


The search for Rhenawedd

by embeer2004



Series: Resonance divergence [4]
Category: Wiedźmin | The Witcher (Video Game), Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types, Wiedźmin | The Witcher Series - Andrzej Sapkowski
Genre: Angst, Blood and Wine (The Witcher 3 DLC) Spoilers, Caring, Continued, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Family, Gen, La cage au Fou, PTSD, Protectiveness, Trauma, What-If
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-17
Updated: 2019-04-26
Packaged: 2020-01-15 16:49:24
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 26,512
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18503041
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/embeer2004/pseuds/embeer2004
Summary: Still recovering from their failed quest for the resonance potion, Regis and Geralt are determined to help Dettlaff find his beloved Rhenawedd. Hunting down clue after clue, and being led all over Toussaint, they slowly unveil the truth behind Dettlaff’s blackmail situation.





	1. A cold dawn

**Author's Note:**

> This starts off three days after ‘Nightmare or Reality’ and continues from there on out. It’s a ‘what-if’ on how Blood and Wine could have continued under this premise.
> 
> Hope you enjoy! :)

_Geralt_  
  
Geralt slowly opened his eyes, a bit confused at hearing soft whinnies echoing through the crypt. There was a cool body lying next to him and, turning his head to the side, he couldn’t help a fond but sad smile from pulling at his lips. Regis was fast asleep still, quietly for once, his chest lightly moving up and down.  
  
Geralt’s eyes moved to Regis’ wrists and he was glad to see that the dark bruises had disappeared. Regis had fed from Dettlaff again the previous night, and while his physical injuries had finally healed, the vampire’s blood hadn’t done much for his exhaustion. It was odd to see Regis healing so slowly, sleeping so much, but Geralt had a suspicion that it was related to his friend’s mental anguish. The Ofieri adage ‘mind over matter’ must contain some truth, though how that exactly translated to higher vampires, whose bodies didn’t obey the laws of nature, was an enigma to him. Mage fire had ultimately wrecked Regis, and so utterly that even now, years later, he was still recovering from his ordeal. Following the recent disaster at Tesham Mutna… both his friend’s mind and matter were now completely worn out. __  
  
These last few days Regis’ sleep had been often troubled by nightmares. His friend would awake, agitated, and suddenly Geralt would find himself caught in a tight embrace; trembling arms wrapped around him. He knew he’d slept through some of those episodes in the beginning, but as he himself healed he was easily stirred from slumber by his frantic friend. Luckily the smallest noise from him was sufficient for Regis to loosen his hold when the vampire squeezed too tight, and he’d learnt that speaking calmly to him, reminding him where he was, that they were safe, that Dettlaff had found them, would eventually draw him away from the nightmare’s clutches.  
  
The whinnies turned louder, more demanding. Geralt blinked, becoming more alert. _Roach._  
  
Looking around the crypt, he quickly established that Dettlaff wasn’t around. For an instant he feared that Roach’ whinnies and Dettlaff’s absence were related, but as soon as the thought arose he squashed it down. Roach had been left behind in monster-dwelling swamps and bogs and knew to run away if things became dangerous, and a vampire who’d been taking care of her ever since they’d returned from Tesham Mutna did not fall within that category.  
  
Returning his gaze to Regis, he examined his friend’s pale face and was pleased to note that the frown lines on his brow were smoothed out. Geralt really didn’t want to wake him by calling out to either Dettlaff or Roach, but if Roach continued on like this _she_ was bound to wake him.  
  
Sighing quietly, Geralt mentally prepared himself. Luckily Regis was lying on the side nearest the wall, it made what he intended to do so much easier…  
  
Taking care to move slowly, he quietly rolled onto his side and twisted his body, shifting until he was sitting upright with his feet on the floor. Good. No sign of the stars that had had a fondness for stealing his vision these last couple of days. And the annoying downwards moving vertigo, as he’d dubbed it, left him alone as well. He still felt tired, though nowhere near as lethargic and heavy as before. The concoction the two vampires provided him with was doing its job and he was pretty sure he could fight now if he had to, especially after a hearty breakfast.  
  
Inhaling deeply, he pushed off of the bed; glad that his legs felt steady. He gaze was drawn back to Regis again, making sure he hadn’t disturbed the sleeping vampire. They would soon need to leave; every moment they waited was one moment longer that Rhenawedd was in danger. It may already be too late and none of them would actually know for certain until they’d seen her, or her body.  
  
Shuffling slowly, he struggled to stay upright, using the wall for support. Where was Dettlaff? He couldn’t have gone far, at least; the young vampire had preferred to stay close by these last couple of days. Not exactly hovering, but reluctant to have them out of his sight, Regis in particular. And he was right to be worried about his blood-brother. Whenever Regis was awake he was acting… well, _not quite right_.  
  
Cautiously, and oh so very slowly, Geralt stumbled down the first flight of stairs; inordinately pleased with himself for not falling flat on his face on his first wanderings all by himself. He ignored the slight trembling that had appeared in his legs.  
  
The light started flickering and his gaze flitted towards one of the fire cones; the flame was dashing about madly for a few moments before petering out. He’d have to look around later to figure out where Regis kept the oils. The other cones likely needed to be refuelled soon as well.  
  
Roach’ whinnying reached his ears again. He really needed to check on her. It didn’t matter if the light went out in the crypt, he and both his companions could see in the dark. His mare on the other hand was trying to draw his attention for some reason.  
  
Geralt turned towards the stairs leading outside and stopped dead in his tracks; a small wave of frustration rushing through him at seeing the many, _many_ steps before him. Dragging a palm over his face, he steeled himself further and reached out to the stone wall next to him.  
  
After the fifth step his legs started burning from the exercise and sweat dotted his brow; he really wanted a tawny owl right about now. He continued.  
  
He lost count of the number of steps he’d already climbed, but it was about halfway up the stairs that he really had to stop to rest, panting and leaning heavily against the wall. His heart was beating wildly in his chest as he tried to regulate his breathing. _This particular step looks pretty comfortable_. He resisted the temptation to actually sit down, fearing that if he did he wouldn’t be able to get up before Roach woke Regis and then the vampire would get all fussy and drag him back to bed. _She’d better have a good reason for making such a ruckus._  
  
An embarrassing gurgling echoed off the walls and, startled, Geralt pressed his arm against his belly, hoping to quiet his empty stomach. He swallowed. With increased healing came an increased need for food and water. He’d prepare some breakfast after this… unless one of the vampires beat him to it. First, though, he needed to make sure that Roach was all right.  
  
He didn’t know how long it actually took him, but finally he was at the top of the stairs and he pushed open the door, stepping outside for the first time in days, greeted by the purple colours of dawn. The climate in Toussaint was pretty mild, but this early in the morning and with what must be an eastern wind the day had started off extremely chilly.  
  
He was immediately greeted by Roach, who walked up to him and butted her head against his chest, releasing another whinny. Patting her neck, Geralt tilted his head so he could look her in the eyes. “Hey Roach,” he spoke lowly, barely louder than a whisper, “what’s the matter, girl?” He gently shut the door behind him.  
  
Roach took a step back, her ears flattened to the side and her upper lip drawn up, revealing her teeth. The mare stomped the ground with her fore-hoof and whinnied again.  
  
“Hey, hey! Quiet Roach, you’ll wake Regis!” He hushed, taking a step forward. “Come on girl, show me what’s the matter,” he cajoled, holding out his hand in what Roach knew to be an invite for a fond nose petting, something she adored.  
  
The mare chomped her teeth loudly and narrowed her eyes at him, looking him up and down. Then her ears perked up and twisted forward, towards him; concern glinting in her brown eyes. With a soft exhale she stepped closer and lowered her head, allowing him to stroke her nose.  
  
“Heard Dettlaff’s been taking care of you, he feed you enough?” A breeze whipped around him and he hunched in on himself, shivering. He clenched his teeth, annoyed at himself. He’d swum in the icy waters of Skellige; this was literally just a breeze in comparison. Susceptibility to the cold, and his fatigue after tackling the stairs just proved that he _really_ wasn’t well yet and needed more time to recover. Time Rhenawedd may not have…  
  
Somewhere behind them a couple of birds seemed to be having a tussle, rustling in some bushes and cawing madly before taking off in flight. Roach’ ears swivelled towards the noise and she pressed her tail close to her body before using her snout to push Geralt to her side, away from the racket.  
  
“You should go inside,” Dettlaff’s rumbling voice came from behind Roach, startling Geralt.  
  
“I'm fine, Dettlaff.” He reached out to pat Roach’ neck, basking in the heat she radiated. “Calm down, Roach. You’d think this is the first time you’ve seen him.”  
  
Dettlaff circled around Roach until he was standing right in front of him. Pale blue eyes roved his body, then narrowed to slits. His nose twitched. “I remember our first encounter. Back at the warehouse I could easily sense your body’s heat.” The vampire reached out a hand and rested it on Geralt’s forehead. “Do not lie, witcher.”  
  
Geralt shrugged, glad when Dettlaff drew back his hand. “Not lying, Dettlaff. I’m a witcher, we heal quickly. Just had a rough couple of days. Am fine now.”  
  
Dettlaff crossed his arms over chest. “Indeed, you are recovering quickly for a human, but you still aren’t well. I can see the trembling of your limbs, the sweat on your brow. You still lack the stamina that you had when we first met. You need more time to heal.”  
  
Geralt’s fingers found their way to Roach’ nose and started tracing irregular patterns. “Anxious to solve this whole mess, even more so since you told us about the letters.”  
  
The vampire looked away, his hands clenched with what Geralt assumed to be helpless rage. Helpless _something_ at least.  
  
“Know what it’s like, Dettlaff.”  
  
Dettlaff’s gaze returned to him, hands unclenching as he tilted his head, curious.  
  
“To have a loved one taken. Doing all you can to track down the culprits and get her back.” Geralt traced another pattern on Roach’ snout. “Seems to be the story of my life these last couple of years. Ciri… Ciri was always appearing and disappearing. Been worried about her ever since I took her back to Kaer Morhen. Then when she disappeared at Thanedd… for the longest time I didn’t even know if she was still alive… and when we’d finally found each other and things finally seemed to work out our little family was broken again. Yen and I died, but Ciri brought us back and left us on Malus Island; our little paradise. But the Wild Hunt came and took Yen.”  
  
He shivered when another cool breeze whipped past. The skin around his wrists felt tight and he started rubbing them, trying to alleviate the tension. “Went after them. Spent weeks, _months_ following their trail. And then…” He could see it happening all over again; screams, blood, skeletal horses and ice, everywhere ice and frost. He shut his eyes, willing the memories to stop. He swallowed. “Being used as a weapon, that’s familiar too, though at least I knew that Yen was all right. Until one day I couldn’t remember anything of my previous life and I became one of _them_. One of the Riders’ conscienceless weapons…” The air had become thin; he was having trouble catching a good breath. Geralt rubbed his wrists more vigorously. There was something wrong with them; they felt numb and heavy, as though something tight was clasped around them, but when he opened his eyes and looked there was nothing. Just naked skin.  
  
He startled when all of a sudden large hands covered his own, stilling his movements.  
  
“Your loved ones are well. I remember their names from your tale.” A wistful smile appeared on the vampire’s lips. “When you told me of what happened to Vesemir, I thought I recognised Ciri’s name. I was certain I’d heard it before…”  
  
Dettlaff’s thumbs started rubbing soothing circles on the inside of his wrists. Regis might have said that Dettlaff was naïve in some ways, but he clearly wasn’t when it came to recognising the plight of others. Seeing him with Regis before Geralt had noticed that, _indeed_ , his herd instinct was strong, and from the way the vampire was trying to calm him now he was certain he’d been accepted as part of Regis’ pack, thus becoming part of Dettlaff’s as well.  
  
Geralt blinked, puzzled.  
  
The vampire’s gaze turned inwards for a moment before he nodded to himself. “During the earlier stages of his regeneration, Regis would cry out in his sleep. I have heard many names, but I’m certain Ciri was one of them.”  
  
Geralt stood still, unwilling to break this thing going on between them right now. “She’s my daughter… my surprise child. Regis joined me in my search for her and he paid dearly for it; it’s why you found him the way you did all those years ago.” He looked up at the vampire, he’d never actually had the chance to thank him before, had he? “Thank you, Dettlaff, for saving Regis.”  
  
Dettlaff nodded. “I was glad to be able to repay the favour he’d done me. We’d been friends for a long time already, but during the last couple of years he’s become very dear to me.”  
  
Geralt’s brow lowered in thought. “Favour?”  
  
Dettlaff’s hold on his hands grew stronger, but luckily not to the point that they started hurting. “Back in my youth I was foolish… tried to help a werewolf escape from a witcher.” He looked intently at him, as if weighing a decision. “It did not end well; my wings were mutilated and have still not healed, but I learnt a very wise lesson about cursed monsters. If Regis hadn’t found me when he did I dread to think on how that encounter would have ended. As it is I’m glad that a lycanthrope’s curse is non-transferrable through their bites…”  
  
Geralt swallowed. He and the hansa had made fun of Regis when he’d yelled ‘werewolf’ upon seeing the bee keeper, but it seemed like his friend had had a legitimate reason for being afraid.  
  
“And who is Yennefer to you, Geralt?” Dettlaff went back to their previous conversation, clearly wanting to change the topic.  
  
Violet eyes and a face framed with raven locks popped up in his mind’s eye at the question, and Geralt smiled, feeling a warmth in his chest. “My lover and mother to Ciri. She’s a force to be reckoned with, but she’s got a heart of gold. First time I met her she saved Dandelion’s life,” seeing the curious blue eyes, he explained, “he’s one of my closest friends.”  
  
A dark eyebrow lifted and slowly, Dettlaff let go of his hands. “Dandelion… as in the _bard_ Dandelion that Regis speaks so fondly of?” The vampire laughed a true laugh. “They say witchers are heartless mutants, but you do not seem to fall into this category at all. Curious…”  
  
When the vampire didn’t seem like he would continue his line of thought Geralt mimicked Dettlaff’s expression. “Yes?”  
  
Dettlaff shook his head and looked towards Roach. The mare’s eyes were on him, her ears pointed towards the vampire; he had her full attention. “It doesn’t matter.”  
  
This time it was Geralt crossing his arms in front of his chest, his imposing stance somewhat dulled by his stomach’s sudden loud gurgling.  
  
Dettlaff snorted and reached into one of his pockets, fishing out an apple. “I was simply wondering whether you are a faithful representation of the witcher caste? But that actually doesn’t matter, as you are you and _you_ are part of Regis’ pack, not another witcher. You know the pain I am in, have felt it yourself, and you wish to help. I find it striking though, that I have encountered three witchers in my lifetime, and two of them knowingly chose to help a vampire.” He held out the apple.  
  
“Thanks.” Geralt gladly accepted the fruit and eagerly bit into it, shrugging his shoulders. “Well, yes. Vesemir was like a father to me, practically raised me from since I was a babe. He’s been one of the biggest influences in my life.”  
  
“And I strongly suspect it was his influence that allowed you to befriend monsters. Regis calls you his friend, he’s protective of you, he doesn’t easily form connections. It is… _unusual_ … for him to let others into his heart like this.”  
  
Geralt took another bite of his apple, slower this time, thinking. It was weird talking about Regis in this context, though it was no secret to him that his dear friend closely guarded his heart. After all, they’d both made such an effort getting to know each other. Revealing pieces of themselves they had never shown to anyone. He didn’t know Dettlaff well enough yet, even though he was starting to like the younger vampire. Speaking of his own past was one thing, but talking about Regis’ feelings… he didn’t really feel comfortable actually. Time to switch topics, he didn’t care how subtle or not-subtle he was about it. “You weren’t there when I woke up, where were you?”  
  
Dettlaff waved lazily, indicating somewhere behind him. “I was receiving an update from my raven friends, whom I have asked to keep an eye on the Rocking Horse.”  
  
Geralt frowned. “A rocking horse?” Seeing Roach trying to nab his apple he quickly moved it to his other hand and gleefully took another bite. He was certain Dettlaff had been feeding her all right, she couldn’t be hungry. Not as hungry as him at any rate, she would forgive him.  
  
“It’s a toyshop in the Beauclair Port district. It’s where I’ve been staying since my return to this city.”  
  
“Why a toyshop?” Of all the places to hide out, a toyshop seemed so… innocent?  
  
The sound of chomping teeth made Geralt turn back towards Roach and he sighed, prepared to give up his breakfast in order to maintain the peace. He’d seen that look in her eyes before…  
  
Dettlaff beat him to it, pulling another apple from his coat and offering it to the mare. Now what kind of man, or vampire, was carrying _apples_ of all things in their pockets, ready to hand out on a whim? Geralt blinked and looked again. A vampire that owned, or had owned, a horse apparently; Dettlaff’s hands moved too easily to Roach’ mouth, one offering the apple while the other automatically stroked her blaze.  
  
The vampire shrugged. “Why not? Not too long after I came here I was walking in the streets, looking for a place to stay. Then I passed the building; nothing remarkable about it, and I would have passed it completely if it hadn’t been for the humans that were standing just outside. It was their muttered speculations about the place that gave me the idea.”  
  
Roach finished with the apple and Dettlaff scratched her chin once before taking a step back. The mare followed, eagerly bending her head to smell his pockets, looking for more treats.  
  
Geralt quickly took a large bite of his own apple before the mare decided to come his way. She’d finished her treat already, this time she seriously wasn’t getting his food, peace be damned.  
  
Dettlaff let her find out by herself that his pockets were well and truly empty this time. That further confirmed Geralt’s suspicion that the vampire was familiar with horses. There was a twinkle in those blue eyes that dulled all too quickly though when Dettlaff took up his tale again. “In between receiving new notes and searching for Rhena there were times when I couldn’t do anything.”  
  
Suddenly, Dettlaff’s head jerked upwards and he looked back towards the crypt, tension seizing his body. The vampire was already taking a step, reaching for the door. Whatever the reason, he stilled before actually opening it and slowly turned his attention back on Geralt. The vampire hesitated and furtively glanced back at the crypt before continuing. “There was nothing to go on, no clue to follow. Humans tend to not wander the streets at night so I found myself with time on my hands on several occasions. Those times I spent inside, working on fixing broken toys.”  
  
Geralt started breathing again, realising he’d stopped. _Regis must be awake._  
  
No sooner had he finished the thought when Roach nickered softly and moved towards him, pulling on his sleeve with her teeth as the door of the crypt was pushed open. When Geralt turned his head towards it she quickly nabbed the last piece of his apple, but he didn’t care. He was too much focused on Regis.  
  
Dark, frantic eyes sought out his own and Regis hurriedly joined them outside. “Dettlaff… does have a way with crafting,” he hedged, a slight tremble in his voice. He was trying so hard to act like _before_.  
  
The vampire reached a hand up to Geralt’s neck, not-so-surreptitiously stroking over one of his scars, before trailing down to his hand, frowning in displeasure. “You’re cold.” Regis touched the back of his fingers to Geralt’s forehead, lingering just a moment too long before the vampire dropped his hand. He didn’t step away though, instead Regis seemed happy to stay within his personal space. “How long have you been out here? You should return inside…”  
  
Was it a vampire thing perhaps, all the touching? Or just a Regis and Dettlaff thing? Resisting the urge to roll his eyes, Geralt grabbed Regis’ dropped hand and lightly squeezed it in reassurance. “Been over this with Dettlaff already. I’m _fine._ ”  
  
Blushing slightly, Regis squeezed back. “You’re a witcher and your regenerative capabilities are superior to others, yet you are not _fine_ yet. You need to rest.”  
  
Taking a step back, Geralt leaned his weight against Roach’ shoulder; huffing out a small laugh at the vampires’ similar behaviour. “Like I told Dettlaff, I’m anxious to leave, Regis. Every moment that I tarry is a moment Rhenawedd may not have.”  
  
Dettlaff looked away, clearly uncomfortable.  
  
Regis’ dark eyes held despair as the gentle vampire grasped Dettlaff’s lower arm.  
  
Dettlaff clasped his free hand over Regis’ and smiled wryly. “Dear brother. I am utmost grateful that I have found you, never doubt that, and I am glad both of you are recovering, but I too am getting restless.”  
  
Guilt appeared on Regis’ face, only to smooth out a moment later. No doubt Dettlaff was making his feelings known over their bond and, knowing what Geralt did of the young vampire, he was doing his best to reassure Regis. His assumption was further confirmed when the younger vampire touched his own forehead to Regis’. _This was how pack behaved_ , Geralt realised…  
   
Regis finally pulled away and inhaled deeply, as if steeling himself. Then a change came over the vampire and he looked more like himself again. “I have been thinking, Dettlaff. You said earlier that you found the notes in your cleaned boots?”  
  
Geralt frowned at the sudden change. He’d have to keep a close eye on his friend; Regis was a better actor than he thought.  
  
“I did,” Dettlaff confirmed.  
  
Regis crossed an arm over his chest and rested the elbow of his other arm on top of it, one of his fingers tapping at his chin; he was clearly thinking the matter through. “Then it must have been either the bootblack himself who was leaving the notes, or someone was watching the boy and left the note after he’d deposited your boots.”  
  
Dettlaff growled. “I realise.”  
  
“You must have tried and question the boy then?” Regis perked up. “You didn’t mention questioning him before, or-” He looked away, shoulders sagging; uncomfortable, ashamed even. “Or, did I… did I-?”  
  
“I didn’t mention that part, because the encounter led to nothing.” Dettlaff interrupted, his hands balling into fists again. “Upon questioning, the boy told me he was the one who received the notes from several beggars, a different beggar with each note, and he was paid to drop the notes in my boots. No links between them other than ‘they all had no home’, to quote the rascal. He couldn’t tell me more.” He pointed up towards the sky. “That’s why I asked the ravens to be on the lookout and report back any curious sightings.”  
  
Geralt stepped away from Roach. He wasn’t willing to give up so easily on the bootblack; just like Dettlaff had neglected to mention this fact, the bootblack may have left something out of his answers as well. “We need to find the beggars. Dettlaff, where exactly is this bootblack located? He may know more than he revealed, sometimes it’s just a matter of asking the right questions, and if we learn nothing new from him – I’m a good tracker, might find something you missed. At least gives us something to actively pursue instead of waiting for the ravens to report back.”  
  
Regis stepped back in his personal space and grasped his arm. “It must wait one more day, Geralt. I know you heal fast, I _know_ , and thus, one more day is what I ask.”  
  
Geralt examined Regis’ hand on him, not willing to risk trying to remove himself from his friend’s grip only to find out that Regis wouldn’t budge. Reasoning… that’s what his friend was susceptible to. “We just need to speak to the beggars and find out how they got the notes, Regis. The bootblack must know more, if not where to find them, at least the direction they came from? That’ll be our next lead!”  
  
Dettlaff entered his personal space as well, but only long enough to lightly tap Regis’ wrist. Regis let go of his arm, reluctantly.  
  
“My ravens have reported nothing new so far and while I am anxious to continue my search, I realise I cannot do so on my own. My search has hit a dead end. Take one more day to rest and recover, Geralt, tomorrow we shall head to San Sebastian together and re-visit the bootblack boy.”  
  
Geralt started worrying his lip. There were some things he needed before they departed on the morrow. “I want my armour… my swords… I feel naked without them.”  
  
Blue eyes looked at him, intently. Then they shifted to Regis, then back to him, turning to slits. “Will you two be all right by yourselves for a few hours?”  
  
Ah. That explained the slitted eyes. Dettlaff was trying to determine whether he could trust them to stay put. Rolling his eyes, Geralt sighed. “Both Regis and I,” he looked at his friend, “will take this extra time to rest, take it easy. We’ll be fine, won’t we, Regis?”  
  
Dettlaff waited, patiently. An eyebrow lifted while he looked at Regis.  
  
Regis huffed. “Yes… yes, fine.”  
  
“Then I shall go to Tesham Mutna and retrieve your equipment, Geralt. Regis…” The vampire gently grasped the back of Regis’ neck, a thumb stroking just under his ear. “You feel our bond, correct?”  
  
Regis closed his eyes for just a moment and cocked his head. “Yes,” he breathed after a while.  
  
“Good. Remember my promise, Regis. I won’t shut you out again. If you need me, you know how to reach me. I’ll be back around noon.” Dettlaff let his hand drop from Regis’ neck and turned towards Geralt.  
  
“Thank you, Dettlaff. Appreciate you doing this for me.” Geralt nodded at the vampire.  
  
Nodding in return, Dettlaff puffed up into a wisp of black and red smoke and left, travelling in a southern direction.  
  
Roach startled at the sudden change, whinnying softly.  
  
“Calm down, Roach, you’d better get used to it. Know two higher vampires now, things like this are bound to happen more often.” Geralt patted the mare on her neck until she calmed down. “Urgh, really want some tawny owl.” His stomach started grumbling again, the half apple he’d eaten not enough to still his hunger.  
  
“Most of your potion vials have smashed to pieces, I’m afraid you’ll have to brew them anew. Besides, it’s not one of those poisons your body is craving, but actual food.” Regis shuffled closer to him and touched his shoulder.  
  
“That an offer of cooking me some food?” Geralt teased, though he clearly recognised the signs for what they were. Only time and gentle reassurances would help Regis get over his trauma; when his friend was ready to speak – a listening ear would be beneficial. In the meantime he’d already accepted the fact that he’d be dealing with an anxious, hovering and protective mother-hen, or perhaps mother-bat was more appropriate. He shivered again, glad they were going back inside, though later in the day he definitely wanted to return outside; it was bound to be nice and warm in the afternoon and he craved being out in the sun again.  
  
“If you’ll sit down and relax I’ll be glad to prepare us both breakfast.” Regis started guiding him towards the crypt, but when he reached the still open door the vampire froze.  
  
“Regis?” Geralt followed Regis’ gaze downwards and saw nothing but darkness. The fire cones must have all gone out. He gently bumped his shoulder against his friend’s side, hoping to attract his attention. “I didn’t think that you, of all people, would forget that witchers and vampires can see in the dark?”  
  
Regis remained frozen, still, but his nostrils flared widely as he breathed heavily.  
  
Geralt moved in front of Regis, blocking his vision of the stairs. He cupped Regis’ face with both his hands and pressed his thumbs lightly to the grey temples. “Regis, we’re all right. We’re at Mère-Lachaiselongue cemetery, remember? Look around you. Notice how the day’s getting brighter?”  
  
After several more heavy breaths Regis inhaled deeply and jerked his head, dislodging Geralt’s hands as he turned his gaze towards the east.  
  
“Dettlaff’s been taking care of the fire cones inside,” Geralt continued, “must have found your stash of oil. How about we go inside and re-light the cones? While I appreciate the light they provide, I’m actually more fond of the heat they cast off. After this chilly morning I’d be glad to feel warm again…”  
  
Regis exhaled harshly, his shoulders dropping. He breathed in and out several times, clearly trying to calm himself. “Apologies, my friend. I realise I’m being-”  
  
“Regis, don’t apologise,” Geralt interrupted, “Not for this.” He waved his hand towards the crypt’s entrance. “Do you want to return inside? Otherwise we could stay out here for a while longer?”  
  
Regis actually released a low keen and reached for his hand. “You’re cold still, and it won’t get any warmer here outside for at least a few hours still. That won’t do, Geralt. I’m fine now, let’s go.”  
  
Geralt wanted to ask him whether he was sure when his stomach gurgled and growled, _loudly_ , and he tightly pressed his arm against his belly again, trying to still the noise. This was getting embarrassing. He actually imagined he could feel his stomach gnawing on his insides like Vesemir had said happened when little young boys didn’t eat their mushrooms and greens. He’d imagined his stomach as a mini devourer back then and Vesemir’s warning had scared him so much that for _years_ he’d eaten everything on his plate.  
  
Regis hesitantly patted his shoulder. “How about you pick out some food while I light the cones?”  
  
“Sounds like a plan, Regis. Then after I’ll need to brew some potions so that I’m fully prepared for tomorrow.” Geralt wondered if Dettlaff would think to bring back his potions pouch as well, so he could sort through it and see which vials could still be saved. Some ingredients were pretty rare and expensive and he hated the thought of losing his entire pouch’s contents.  
  
“I can help you with your potions if you’d like, speed up the ingredient preparation?” Regis offered. “And after that it’s back to bed for a restorative nap.”  
  
Geralt returned his gaze with a deadpan look. The last time he’d had a nap during daylight hours was when he’d still _believed_ he actually had a mini devourer for a stomach. “I’m just over a hundred years old, Regis. I really don’t need an afternoon nap.”  
  
Regis turned a bit, and the way that the dawning light was casting shadows on his face only accentuated the dark circles under his eyes. Geralt would be fine with some light meditation while his potions brewed, but his friend really needed to rest more and get some actual sleep.  
  
“Though…” Geralt shook his head; _the things he wouldn’t do for Regis_ , “I have always wanted to try this ‘siesta’ that the Toussaintois are so fond of. Apparently all the wine and garlic consumed during lunch causes a pleasant drowsiness, and somewhere along the line people decided it was better to drowse outside in the good weather and wait until their stupor’s worn off before continuing with their jobs.”  
  
Regis looked puzzled. “If I remember correctly, siesta was actually introduced as an afternoon rest so that labourers could escape the hottest hours of the day?”  
  
Geralt smiled, shrugging. “Not saying I wanna get smashed on wine, but drowsing outside in the sun sounds much more appealing to me, more so than hiding from the sun. What do you say we go about our morning as planned and then later, after lunch, we hold our own version of siesta? Could take some blankets outside to lie on?”  
  
The smile Regis levelled at him was full of teeth, one of his rare, pleased smiles. “That sounds like a splendid idea, Geralt.”  
  
Roach whuffled behind them, drawing their attention. The mare’s ears flickered back and forth before she looked at them and lifted her head, nickering softly and tapping her fore-hoof to the ground. Then she sauntered off in the direction of a grassy knoll, and Geralt just knew she was going to scavenge around until she found some blowballs to munch on.  
  
Content that Roach was fine and didn’t seem intent on creating another ruckus, her worry appeased, Geralt mentally prepared himself to tackle the stairs again.  
  
Regis stood inside the doorway and swept out his hand towards the crypt’s entrance. “Shall we, my friend?”  
  
Geralt’s stomach gurgled in reply.


	2. Following the trail

_Regis_ ** _  
_**  
It wasn’t a pleasant experience at all, step by step descending the stairs and walking away from the light. Geralt was right of course; neither a witcher nor a vampire actually had trouble seeing in the dark, but that didn’t stop Regis’ body from responding the way it did when confronted with the darkened crypt.  
  
Geralt was walking right beside him, one hand on the wall next to him as he carefully made his way downwards. Regis felt his own muscles tensing up. His keen eyes noticed the small trembling of his friend’s legs and he was ready to catch him should he slip or stumble. Rationally he actually expected nothing of the sort to occur; witchers in general were very much self reliant through necessity, but his young friend tended to be very well aware of the limits of his own body and had learnt to ask for help when needed. Regis’ mind recognised that rational part, but there was another part, a currently very much larger part, shouting at him to _protect, keep safe!_  
  
A vaguely burnt oil smell hung in the air, growing stronger with each step downwards; burnt oil, dust, damp earth, mould and rotten wood. Regis had never been bothered by these scents before, not even during the last couple of days, but having been outside and experiencing the dawn and the smells of grass and blooming flowers, his mind now balked at these familiar scents. _Darkness. Cold metal. Icy stillness… **  
**_  
Geralt had told him to leave the door open and had reassured him that if any visitor stumbled upon the open door and wandered down a simple Axii would take care of the matter. Regis was glad at his friend’s forethought; the crypt’s darkness wasn’t as complete as it had been before, when he’d woken up and found the spot next to him empty.  
  
He blushed in embarrassment, remembering how he’d panicked earlier, and how Dettlaff had instantly sent back reassurances of **_comfort_** and **_safe_** over their bond, though his brother couldn’t prevent a trace of **_worry_** seeping through. Regis had been on edge, his heart beating loudly in his chest as he’d misted up and flew up the stairs, materialising just a few steps before the exit and hearing Dettlaff’s voice trail off. Opening the door he’d been extremely relieved to see his two packmates, and the purplish pink light of the dawn eased something in his chest, making it easier to breathe.  
  
“Any idea where Dettlaff’s keeping the food?” Geralt uttered softly when they’d reached the bottom. “It was on this particular floor, right?”  
  
Shaking himself out of his gloomy thoughts, Regis turned to his friend. “Geralt?”  
  
Geralt’s hand swept through the air in front of him. “Any idea what Dettlaff did to my packs? The ones with my provisions?”  
  
Ah. Of course. “Knowing Dettlaff he’s organised all the victuals in one place. I’m pretty sure he’s found my own stores, they’re over there.” He pointed towards the back.  
  
“Good,” the witcher huffed, “let me find something for breakfast while you light the cones. Join me in a minute?”  
  
**_Uncertainty._** Regis reached up to his chest and quickly dropped his hand again; no strap to grasp. _Naked, like a human._ “Yes, I’ll be just a moment.” The cones… he needed his special oils.  
  
“Say, Regis,” Geralt started as he walked towards their food and began rifling through the various sacks and items, “can I ask you something?”  
  
Misting up, Regis quickly flew up and materialised on top of the stairs, finding the oils and kindling in their usual place and gathering what he needed. “Hmm?”  
  
“It’s something Dettlaff mentioned, found it odd. Hoping you could clear it up for me?”  
  
“If it’s something Dettlaff said it really depends on your question, Geralt, but feel free to ask.” Regis descended the stairs as quickly as he could, feeling his body’s dulled responses. He shouldn’t have misted up, _again_ ; the transformations had taken more energy than he’d expected. He walked over to the nearest cone and worked on re-lighting it.  
  
“He mentioned something about his wings, that they were mutilated?”  
  
**_Surprise._** Regis turned around, easily finding Geralt in the still mostly dark crypt; his tapetum lucidum reflecting the light of the re-kindled fire. “He told you?” He shook his head. “Of course he told you, or you would not be asking me about it. It seems Dettlaff has decided to trust you, very well. Yes, they were damaged after contact with silver shards, derived from what I now can classify as what must have been a type of moon dust bomb.”  
  
“A moon dust bomb?” Geralt’s eyes focused on him.  
  
Regis walked over to the next cone and repeated the process.“If he told you about his wings he likely also mentioned the werewolf and the witcher?”  
  
“Mentioned something about trying to help a werewolf escape.”  
  
“He got between the lycanthrope and a witcher bomb and, in pain, transformed into his theriomorphic shape. What I’m telling you now I’m telling you in the strictest of confidences and I would appreciate you not mentioning it to anyone else…”  
  
“Of course, Regis.” Geralt picked up one of the sacks and started rifling through it. Regis could still hear the low grumbling emanating periodically from his friend’s stomach.  
  
“The silver particles in the bomb were akin to a corrosive acid to him, especially his patagium. The werewolf took advantage of his stunned state and threw him off the slopes.” **_Anger._** “He landed in one of the traps the witcher had set out and couldn’t open the snare. Basically he was stuck with the equivalent of corrosive acid on him until I stumbled upon him and helped him get it off.”  
  
**_Concern. Worry._** He’d worried Dettlaff.  
  
 He moved on to the next cone.  
  
“How long ago was this?” Geralt asked.  
  
**_Calm. Love._** He sent back over the bond he shared with his brother, letting him know things were all right. “A couple of centuries ago. Dettlaff and I were still young, but it was after my drunk flying stint. As a matter of fact I’d been living with my dear friend the humanist for several years already…”  
  
“Have you seen them since that event? His wings I mean?”  
  
Regis went over to the last cone and finished his task, relieved. “I have. They are horribly damaged, but at least he can fly and they don’t pain him anymore.”  
  
“Wait, Regis!” Geralt’s voice sounded distressed and Regis turned around to meet the witcher’s gaze. “He’s retrieving my stuff. I threw some moon dust bombs down there, there’s silver everywhere!” Worry marred his brow.  
  
“Hush now. He managed just fine the first time, the silver had long settled.”  
  
“And I forgot to warn him of my potions! I was carrying black blood, if he touches that…”  
  
Regis held up his hand, halting his friend’s worried exclamations. “He and I have been living together for seven years. Dettlaff knows to be careful of alchemical potions.”  
  
The witcher’s shoulders dropped. “You certain?”  
  
“Quite so,” Regis reassured. Finished with the cones, he went over to Geralt, examining their provisions. He appreciated the warm light of the fires and felt the heat the flames cast; Geralt was sure to benefit from them now, especially if they ate close to one of the lit cones. “So, what have you set aside for our breakfast?”  
  
“Think you can do anything with this?” Geralt gestured towards the small table in front of him. On it he’d clearly piled things for their meal, including bread, cheese, dried meat, a honey-cake, eggs and several pieces of raw meat.  
  
Ah, meat and eggs. He could bake those and season them with some pepper for a hearty breakfast. “Certainly.” Regis walked a little bit farther and retrieved a flask of raspberry juice. “And something light to drink to go with it,” he offered, starting to sort through his little array of pots and pans and set to lighting a little hearth so he could prepare their meals.  
  
Geralt helped himself to the honey-cake, stealing a slice before he started rasping the cheese, while Regis seasoned the meat and cracked the eggs into a pan. He would make sure to prepare enough to feed both a hungry witcher and himself.  
  
It was with a comfortable silence that they worked together in their preparations, and in further comfortable silence that they ate breakfast, perched on Regis’ mattress. Soon Geralt’s stomach quieted and the witcher leaned back against the wall, a hand resting contently on his stomach and lightly rubbing up and down.  
  
“Need a minute here, Regis.” Geralt murmured, slowly blinking his eyes.  
  
Regis felt a smile pulling at his lips. “And you shall have it, dear friend.” He collected their dirty dishes and went downstairs, and quickly set to cleaning the kitchen and their utensils before joining Geralt back upstairs.  
  
“I thought you were too old for a nap?” He teased Geralt, noticing the witcher’s closed eyes.  
  
Lazily opening one eye, Geralt sighed. “Not sleeping,” he countered, fondly patting his stomach. “Feel like a filled-up barrel. Just roll me around to wherever you need me.”  
  
**_Amusement._** Regis felt immensely pleased that his friend was well and full. Geralt could do with more heartening meals. Rubbing a hand over his own slightly bulging belly Regis couldn’t prevent the wry smile. They both could, actually. He wasn’t well still, was still regenerating and all his energy went into restoring his body. No matter how hard Dettlaff had tried by cooking appetizing meals and sharing his blood, and no matter how much Regis tried to eat his fill and rest when he could, his body’s healing had slowed. Ever since… **_Unease._** He jerked his head up, not willing to think of the past.  
  
Geralt blinked up at him, a gleam of _something_ in his eyes.  
  
Regis breathed in slowly and forced a smile to his face. “No rolling you around like a barrel, rest assured. I can just imagine the lyrics Dandelion would compose…”  
  
Geralt frowned and scooted off the mattress. “Need to create potions anyways.” He headed towards Regis’ brewing station and started examining the pots and jars with alchemy ingredients. “Should take only a few hours and then we can head outside and hold siesta in the sun.” The witcher hummed, reaching for one of the jars. “Need my supplies. Good thing I’d left most behind here before setting out. Got most of the ingredients I need to make what I want, assuming I can use some of your bear fat stores? Need a new batch of necrophage and vampire oil.” He picked up a piece of paper lying on the desk. “What’s this?” His eyes widened in surprise as he scanned over the text.  
  
Regis headed towards him and held out his hand, silently asking Geralt to hand back his regeneration potion formula. “A potion of my own invention, one that I needed after I had initially left Dettlaff to head for Dillingen. It’s less efficient than his blood, but it does aid my regeneration. I hadn’t needed to make it in such a long time; I only stayed in Dillingen for a few weeks before returning to Nazair. I discovered that trying to live among humans, pretending to be one of them, wasn’t giving me the distraction I had once needed. Worse, it wasn’t giving me the _acceptance_ and _love_ that I’d been receiving ever since I joined Dettlaff’s pack.” **_Love. Fondness._** “They’re wonderful, Geralt, I so hope that one day you will have the opportunity to meet our pack.”  
  
Geralt raised an incredulous eyebrow at him. “Don’t know how Dettlaff feels about that, Regis. At the start of this mess I killed the bruxa responsible for creating a blood bath in Corvo Bianco’s cellars. He mentioned she’d been his favourite…”  
  
Regis frowned, he knew Geralt had encountered a bruxa, but he hadn’t known it had been his brother’s favourite. So he’d not been the only one to go after Dettlaff… **_Grief._** One of his pack members had tried to attack Geralt and his friend had defended himself with deadly force. He… didn’t want to think too deeply on this matter. If she hadn’t tried to attack Geralt she would be alive still, of that he was sure, but his heart clenched at the loss and there was nothing that could be done for it at the moment. He didn’t blame Geralt though, he just couldn’t. “I think Dettlaff understands why you did it, even though he grieves for her. If he truly blamed you and held you any ill will he would have killed you already in retaliation.”  
  
“He came close to it at the warehouse, Regis. If you hadn’t jumped between us…” Geralt shuddered.  
  
Regis waved a hand. “If he had really intended to kill you, he would have simply misted up and attacked. You wouldn’t have seen him coming and I would have been too late to step between you and stop the fight. No, even back then Dettlaff didn’t wish to kill you, and from his interactions with you these last few days I can say with certainty that he’s actually become fond of you.”  
  
Geralt shrugged his shoulders and started pulling some jars from the shelves. “Wanna help by cutting some ingredients?” His friend was clearly uncomfortable with the direction their conversation had taken.  
  
Regis walked over to him and lightly brushed against Geralt’s arm as he reached towards the shelf containing his beakers and flasks. “I would be happy to, Geralt.” **_Love._**  
  
*  
  
It had taken them a few hours to create enhanced potions; tawny owl, Petri’s philtre, black blood, some swallow and the necrophage and vampire oils. Additionally, Regis had also created a special polish for the young bootblack. Dettlaff tended to deal well with children of any race, but he wasn’t sure that his brother had asked all the right questions, as Geralt had wondered as well. Regis had quickly learnt, while dealing with children as a barber surgeon, that children usually tended to answer only exactly that which was asked of them, or instead talked about anything that wasn’t even related to the question. No, young minds needed to be focused and clearly asked; the lad could know more than he’d told Dettlaff. A little special polish as either an enticement or a reward seemed like a splendid idea.  
  
It was just as they were finishing up cleaning their workspaces that Dettlaff returned. The younger vampire looked very much like a witcher with Geralt’s swords strapped to his back and his potions pouch hanging from his shoulder. He’d apparently retrieved a sack and stowed Geralt’s armour in it, making it easier to carry all the gear.  
  
Regis’ nose twitched. **_Concern._** He hurried down the stairs and carefully examined his brother. There. A burn mark in his glove. “Dettlaff! Are you all right?” He picked up Dettlaff’s hand and twisted it this way and that, determining whether it was safe to pull off the glove.  
  
**_Calm._** “I’m fine, Regis. When picking up the potions pouch one of the corks on the vials was loosened, and a liquid smelling like a crushed giant centipede gushed out. Only my glove and a part of Geralt’s pouch were affected.” Dettlaff pulled off the glove himself and showed him his unblemished hand, wriggling his fingers as proof.  
  
“I had old giant centipede discharge in there, must have degraded into acid extract,” Geralt’s voice echoed through the crypt. Light footsteps sounded on the steps. “Did you have any trouble?”  
  
Turning around, Regis noted Geralt moving down the stairs with more of his usual grace; he truly was recovering swiftly. **_Relief._**  
  
“No,” Dettlaff started removing the swords and pouch, “there was silver on the floor and some particles clinging to your armour, but I managed to avoid them while packing up your gear.” He met Geralt halfway and then stood still in front of him, holding out the swords. “I’m afraid that your swords and armour are of no use to you as they are; they are damaged.”  
  
Geralt took the swords and carefully pulled out his silver one from its sheath. He winced and held his hand out towards the sack.  
  
Dettlaff gave him both the sack and the pouch before stepping back, just a half step.  
  
Sighing, Geralt shook his head, carefully holding his pouch a bit away from him. He finished his descent, a bit slower than before, and set his gear down on top of one of the sarcophagi. “Thank you, Dettlaff, you have no idea how much I appreciate you retrieving my gear.” He unsheathed his steel sword and examined the blade, nodding to himself.  
  
His brother huffed. “I don’t see why? Your gear’s useless.”  
  
Geralt gripped his sword tighter. “My steel blade’s in a good state still. All my gear was crafted by a grandmaster and is top quality. Lafargue will be able to repair my silver sword and armour, I’ve gone to him before for repairs. I’m actually quite fond of this set.”  
  
Regis lifted an eyebrow. “No matter how good this grandmaster is, he still won’t be able to repair your gear on the spot. You need new armour.”  
  
Geralt nodded, sheathing his sword. “I’ve got another set back at Corvo Bianco. Swords too.” He looked hesitantly at them, a bit of a slump in his shoulders. “If we leave today-”  
  
Regis held up his hand. “No, Geralt. You promised, one more day!”  
  
“Regis…” Geralt stepped close to him and looked him deeply in the eyes, “I know you hate it here. Not saying that we leave and pick up our search for Rhenawedd today, but we could go to Corvo Bianco and stay there for the rest of the day, spend the night in a larger bed, or there’s a guest room if you prefer. It’s just a little over two hours travel if we pass by Lafargue’s workshop, we’d have plenty of time to rest and on the morrow we could set out bright and early.”  
  
**_Reluctance._** “You need to recuperate, and travelling on horse for two hours is not taking it easy!” He clenched his jaw and stared back into golden eyes, willing his friend to listen.  
  
“I’ll be fine, Regis! I’m practically back to full health already, a ride on Roach-”  
  
**_Calm._** “Perhaps,” Dettlaff’s gruff voice interrupted, “it _would_ be wise to travel to Corvo Bianco today. Like Geralt said, he’d be able to turn in his gear for repair, and in three hours at most we’d be at the estate and you _both_ would be able to rest.” **_Love. Reassurance.  
  
_**Regis’ hand moved up to his shoulder, grasping the material of his tunic before letting go again. He wanted his satchel, where had he left it?  
  
Geralt seemed to be holding his breath, quiet, still.  
  
Dettlaff cocked his head and reached out his hand, lightly grasping his and squeezing gently.  
  
Looking around the crypt, Regis recognised the truth in what they’d both said. These walls had once been his safe haven, but now they reminded him of Tesham Mutna, fuelling his nightmares. He was actually curious to see how far Geralt had gotten with the villa’s renovations, and to meet Marlene de Trastamara, ex-wight. “A-all right, Geralt, Dettlaff…” His fingers twitched in Dettlaff’s hand.  
  
His brother smiled at him. **_Love._** “Let’s pack the things you need, then we can set out.”  
  
“Lunch first?” Geralt asked, glancing towards the corner where their provisions lay.  
  
Regis sighed fondly, smiling. “Lunch first…” he agreed.  
  
*  
  
After lunch they prepared themselves for a long stay at Corvo Bianco, packing up the things they would need and bringing them with them. Then they headed outside, upstairs into the now sun-warmed morning.  
  
Geralt whistled and only a moment later Roach appeared, her full attention on them. She patiently allowed Geralt to put a bridle and saddle on her, as well as all the saddlebags, one of them containing his damaged armour. The witcher’s swords were on his back, though his silver one would be useless if they encountered any monsters. Geralt would ride Roach and both him and Dettlaff would walk. If there was a need for speed they could mist up and fly away, and Geralt could cajole Roach into a gallop.  
  
Regis examined his claws. Geralt would be safe, at least on this trip.  
  
Their first stop was in Beauclair: the workshop of Lazare Lafargue. Regis and Dettlaff stayed outside while Geralt entered the workshop and, after only a few minutes, Geralt came back out, a grimace on his face. “He can fix my gear, though he said it would take at least two days, perhaps more, seeing as he needs to bring in some infused slyzard hide. Good thing I still got the grandmaster crafted griffin set back at Corvo Bianco.”  
  
Dettlaff frowned at the odd statement. “Griffin set?”  
  
Geralt’s eyes lighted up as he started explaining about the witcher schools and their armour and weapon diagrams, while they headed in a northern direction. Regis paid attention as well, intrigued by the different witcher schools and the qualities of their gear. He’d never known that the correct placement of special runes could enhance a witcher’s signs. And Lafargue was capable of imbuing these runes into Geralt’s armour. Perhaps when this was all over he would go back and speak to the man to learn how his achieved this…  
  
The trip from Beauclair to Corvo Bianco took a little less than two hours. Roach seemed very much pleased to return to her own stables, as the mare quickened her step and hurried through the gate, taking a direct left towards her stall, in search of some food.  
  
Geralt patted her neck fondly before dismounting. “Welcome back home, Roach.” He seemed a bit tired, but Regis detected no further trembling of his legs. Good, he’d been worried that the ride would tire him out; he should have known that his friend could better estimate the limits of his own body.  
  
Dettlaff shooed Geralt away when the man tried untacking the mare, claiming the witcher looked like a breeze would knock him over and he _got this_. He deftly managed to free Roach of all her gear and then rewarded her patience with an apple.  
  
Regis smiled. Back home one of Dettlaff’s favourite pastimes was taking care of Horse and spoiling her rotten and now his brother seemed to be doing the same with Geralt’s horse.  
  
“Ah master Geralt, you have returned!” A voice exclaimed from somewhere behind them and when Regis turned around he saw a distinguished looking bald man wearing sunglasses hurrying down the villa steps. The man blinked, taking in the witcher’s outfit and staring at his face. “What happened, Geralt? Are you all right?”  
  
Geralt waved a hand at him. “I’m fine, B.B. These gentlemen are Emiel Regis Rohellec Terzieff-Godefroy and Dettlaff van der Eretein,” Geralt introduced them, “Regis, Dettlaff, this is Barnabas-Basil Foulty, majordomo of Corvo Bianco vineyard and estate.”  
  
Barnabas-Basil straightened up. “A pleasure to meet you, master Regis, master Dettlaff.”  
  
“Master Foulty,” Dettlaff acknowledged.  
  
“Well met,” Regis intoned, fidgeting with the strap of his satchel. Geralt wouldn’t be pleased with him if he started telling his majordomo what had happened, no matter how much he wanted him to keep his promise and rest as much as he could before they had to set out in the morning.  
  
“B.B, how’s Marlene?” Geralt asked, a tinge of worry in his voice.  
  
“Miss de Trastamara has settled in nicely, master Geralt. She’s improved much since last you saw her.”  
  
Geralt nodded. “Glad to hear it.”  
  
“If you will allow me, Sir, I shall ask her to prepare some food. Miss de Trastamara has taken to the kitchen, preparing snacks for the servants. Her love for cooking has been well appreciated by the workers and I know she would be very pleased to be able to cook for you and your guests.”  
  
“Follow you in, wanna say hi myself.”  
  
They all went inside and Regis felt a warmth in his chest at seeing the old woman coming out of the kitchen. His friend could have simply killed the spotted wight, but instead he’d broken the curse and taken her in. **_Affection.  
_**  
“Marlene, how are you?” Geralt asked, his worried gaze roving over her figure.  
  
“I am well, Geralt.” Marlene examined his face and frowned. “You on the other hand look like you could use a hearty meal and some good rest.”  
  
Regis smiled. He already liked her.  
  
“I’d love it if you cooked for us later today, but right now we’re weary from travel and were planning on lounging outside. Perhaps with a light snack?” Geralt turned soft eyes on her.  
  
“Say no more,” Marlene held up her hand, a smile twitching on her lips before she stepped back into the kitchen.  
  
Regis turned his focus on the rest of the room, taking in the armour stands with different types of armour on display, the swords and paintings on the wall. Seemed like Geralt was truly settling in.  
  
Dettlaff had walked over to one of the stands displaying black leather armour with many belts and hardened shoulder pieces. Regis did a double take, seeing the armour’s waist; how would it ever protect a witcher’s vulnerable middle? What was the type of fight when Geralt would actually select this set?  
  
Geralt nodded towards another amour set all the way in the back. “That’s the grandmaster griffin set. This one and the feline are the only ones I’ve managed to upgrade, still looking for the other diagrams for my other armour sets…”  
  
Regis walked over, examining the green and gold-coloured armour. The chest piece was curved, reminding him of a budgie’s chest. He examined the trousers; _so much metal_ , the whole outfit looked rigid and uncomfortable, a bit ridiculous even.  
  
Geralt appeared at his side and pointed at the upper armour and trouser’s leg pieces. “Lafargue has a sense of humour, added the imagery of the griffin faces on the shoulders and knees…”  
  
A laugh escaped Regis’ lips and he smiled widely, not bothering to hide his fangs.  
  
Geralt headed towards a door near the front entrance and went through it, coming back out only a moment later with his arms full of blankets. “Did promise to hold siesta this afternoon, you joining?”  
  
**_Fondness._** “Gladly,” Regis agreed, taking the blankets from him.  
  
“B.B, we’ll be heading to the grassy knoll, see you in a bit,” Geralt said, holding the door open for them.  
  
“Yes, Sir, enjoy your _siesta_ ,” the majordomo replied, heading towards the kitchen.  
  
Regis and Dettlaff followed Geralt around the villa and up and over a little stream until they’d reached the grassy knoll Geralt had mentioned. A large tree provided shadow should the sun become too hot; all in all this was a very good spot for spending outside. There was a bouquet of pheasants strolling about, rustling the nearby bushes, no doubt in search of some juicy insects. The light wind brought to them the scents of grass and flowers and Regis was certain he could smell ripe grapes as well. Yes, this was a very nice spot…  
  
Within moments they had the blanket laid out and Regis was pleased to see it was large enough for all three… _if_ Dettlaff wanted to join them. His brother was standing next to the tree, a bit unsure on what to do next.  
  
Geralt took off his boots and lay down on the blanket, patting the material next to him in silent invitation. The witcher looked up at Dettlaff and lifted an eyebrow. “Going to try this thing called siesta now, Dettlaff, wanna join?”  
  
**_Confusion._** Dettlaff crossed his arms over his chest. “I… I must-” he fell silent, uncertain how to continue.  
  
A near-silent groan sounded from downhill and the three of them followed the sound with their eyes. It was Barnabas-Basil, and the majordomo was followed by Marlene, both of them carrying a tray of snacks and drink.  
  
Regis noticed the majordomo’s eyes fixing on their blanket. Ah well… he could help with cleaning later to ease the man’s discomfort, there were more important things to worry about than a few grass stains.  
  
The two humans carefully placed the trays on the ground. “If you need anything else, please do not hesitate to ask,” Barnabas-Basil offered.  
  
“Appreciate it, B.B,” Geralt nodded, “and thank you, and Marlene. We’ll be here for most of the day I suspect…” He watched the two humans strolling down the hill and turning around the corner before taking a piece of bread from the tray, dipping it into some creamy herb butter. Then he silently offered the piece to Dettlaff.  
  
The young vampire came closer and hesitantly accepted it, settling himself down onto the blanket as he bit off a piece while Regis took some glasses from the tray and poured in the wine that had been offered.  
  
They lazily ate and drank all that was on the tray before Geralt sighed and lay down, stretching himself out on the blanket, eyes closing.  
  
Regis swallowed and furtively looked at Dettlaff. Seeing his brother nod he lay down as well, slitting his eyes as he stared up at the bright sky.  
  
“Hmm… could fall asleep like this,” Geralt murmured, rubbing his stomach, “telling you, siesta’s all about this.” He folded his arms behind his head, eyes still closed, content to just lie and soak up the heat of the sun.  
  
Regis scoffed, closing his eyes as well, but there was a tenseness in his body that wouldn’t let him doze off.  
  
There was a rustling next to him and, opening his eyes, he noticed Dettlaff had settled down next to him. His brother’s body was rigid. He was clearly uncomfortable lying there, but he was trying to follow their example, so Regis gently grasped his wrist and pulled him closer. Dettlaff allowed himself to be pulled onto his side, going along with the manhandling as though unwilling to break a tentative equilibrium.  
  
**_Love._** Regis scooted a bit closer to Geralt, pleased that Dettlaff shifted with him. Satisfied, he closed his eyes and basked in the sun’s rays.  
  
He must have dozed a bit, for when he opened his eyes again the sun was low on the horizon. Regis blinked lazily, feeling two bodies close to him. His body felt looser, more relaxed; he must have slept, but he didn’t remember any nightmares. He sighed; he wouldn’t mind sleeping until the morning actually, he was still so very tired.  
  
**_Amusement._**  
  
He looked behind him, seeing Dettlaff’s amused eyes. “The human, Barnabas-Basil, came by a while ago, I am certain it was to check up on us. He said Marlene had started dinner preparations and to not hesitate to ask if we needed anything.”  
  
“Have you been awake this whole time?” Regis knew his brother required far less sleep than he did, and being idle while Regis and Geralt were basically sleeping the majority of the afternoon away couldn’t be pleasant for him. Especially as he was already impatient to go after Rhenawedd.  
  
Dettlaff threw a look over at Geralt. “I find I cannot relax. The humans, they go about their business, making noise as they go along the vineyard and I am… alert.”  
  
“Hmm… had the same issue when I just got here,” Geralt murmured sleepily, “took a while to get used to the hustle and bustle here.” He rose up on his elbows and looked at them with drowsy eyes. “Too lazy now to do anything other than eat and drink some more.”  
  
“Sun drowsiness,” Regis nodded, “that’s another reason why siesta is usually held inside, where it’s cool.”  
  
Geralt yawned widely and stretched out his arms. “Don’t mind one bit. Not today, at least.”  
  
The three of them stayed outside under the still warm Toussaint sky until the sun started setting, and then finally left the grassy knoll to go inside and have dinner. Regis’ mouth watered at what was on the table before them; Marlene had prepared various dishes for them, and _plenty_. He couldn’t remember ever having been this well-fed.  
  
*  
  
Later, in the evening, Geralt started preparing for bed.  
  
Regis sighed. Even with all the rest and lazing about he wouldn’t mind sleeping a bit more. He was getting tired of being tired all the time.  
  
“Got a guest bedroom upstairs,” Geralt offered.  
  
**_Fear. Concern._** “No!” Regis balked at the idea of being separated. **_Frustration. Disappointment._** He should be better than this, but he just wasn’t ready. “Could I… could _we_ …”  
  
“Regis! It’s all right,” Geralt rushed to say, “you can stay with me. _Both_ of you can stay with me.”  
  
**_Relief._** Regis hurriedly followed after Geralt, glancing back to see if Dettlaff was following.  
  
**_Uncertainty._** His brother hovered just inside the doorway, his eyes taking in Geralt’s bedroom. Then the vampire nodded and stepped inside.  
  
“Bed’s large enough, Regis… Dettlaff,” Geralt discarded his clothes, leaving only his braies before crawling under the new blanket that either Marlene or Barnabas-Basil must have placed there.  
  
Regis tilted his head, examining the large bed. It would indeed be able to hold all three of them without any problems, and it would be much more comfortable than his bed back at Mère-Lachaiselongue. “Dettlaff?” he asked, hoping his brother would understand.  
  
**_Calm. Safe._** Dettlaff quietly closed the door and took off his own clothing, leaving on his light shirt and his smallclothes. Regis did likewise and lifted the cover, hesitating.  
  
Geralt opened his eyes and patted the area next to him. “Come on, Regis, feel free to dive in. Got a long day ahead tomorrow.”  
  
Regis crawled under the covers, determined to keep some distance between himself and Geralt, not wanting to suffocate his friend when there was sufficient space on the mattress. He fidgeted in place, trying to get comfortable, but he felt twitchy. When Dettlaff climbed in after him his brother gently pushed him forward, towards Geralt, who in turn moved his arm, allowing Regis to rest his head on his chest.  
  
“Night, Regis… Dettlaff,” Geralt murmured softly, already falling asleep.  
  
“Goodnight Geralt,” Dettlaff replied and Regis could feel his hand settling on his shoulder, “Regis…”  
  
“Yes, you too,” he whispered, listening to the slow but steady beat of Geralt’s heart, eventually drifting off to its steadying rhythm.  
  
*  
   
The next morning Regis woke up feeling well rested. He couldn’t remember getting so much sleep in years, but apparently his body was craving it. Geralt, too, looked much better than before. Less wan, less tired. Back to his usual self.  
  
And thus, after a hearty breakfast prepared by Marlene, they set out, heading towards Rue de Garles, in search of the bootblack boy, leaving Roach behind in the stables to be pampered by the stable boy.  
  
It was time to do something about Dettlaff’s blackmail situation.  
  
*  
  
As Regis had expected, the young bootblack was an entrepreneurial lad, a smart boy and a quick thinker, and neither Dettlaff nor Geralt had actually been making any kind of headway in questioning the boy about the letters.  
  
Taking out his special polish, he’d crouched down in front of the lad and, after some cajoling and asking the right types of questions, obtained a new piece of information. They had a new lead to follow.  
  
The homeless shelter just around the corner, up the stairs and to the right…  
  
*  
  
After helping out the shelter owner the man was eager to aid them in return and had invited them inside, allowing them to wait for his usual flock.  
  
And that’s how, several hours later, the three of them currently found themselves conversing with three beggars after convincing them to talk about the letters they’d delivered.  
  
“He was darn’d tall. Hair as black as the night, large bushy beard. Spoke with a foreign lilt,” Romain was telling them.  
  
“That is the man,” another man said, “met him while begging outside the Pheasantry. Came to me and offered me a heap of money to sign this lease to an old port warehouse.”  
  
“I too was in that area when I was approached by a tall dark man,” the third beggar piped up, “got paid to deliver a note to a young bootblack in Rue de Garles. Freshy delivered a letter too, but he can’t tell you as he’s not here.”  
  
Regis nodded thoughtfully. “Thank you. Someone else approach you or one of your kin, to deliver another letter, please do inform us, it’s a matter of utmost importance to the duchy.”  
  
“How would we find you?” Romain questioned, eagerly looking towards the kettle of soup hanging off a hook, pulled away from the hearth’s fire.  
  
“We’re staying at Corvo Bianco,” Geralt said, “should be able to find us there, otherwise you can inform the majordomo of the estate, he will be able to reach me.”  
  
The beggars nodded.  
  
“Thank you my dears,” the shelter owner said kindly, “the soup’s still warm, I shall serve it to you now.”  
  
Regis hummed, taking in the scene. Here was a human offering shelter and food to the homeless, speaking to them with kind words and convincing them to help three strangers. Standing up for his flock when other, violent people threatened them and tried to get rid of them. Valour, honour, compassion, generosity and wisdom; this man lived by the Five Virtues and was a far better man than the dreamy knights errant who boasted their prowess and roamed off to kill monsters to impress their ladies, getting paid for their ‘good deeds’. _This_ man in front of him was a good man… Regis looked back up at Geralt and amended his thought: these _two_ men in front of him were such good men. Exemplary specimens of the human race.  
  
A warmth settled in his heart. **_Fondness. Love. Appreciation. Admiration._**  
  
Dettlaff looked at him, a bit puzzled, but stayed quiet. Regis smiled at him and straightened his back as they exited the shelter. His moods felt improved.  
  
“The Pheasantry,” Geralt rubbed his chin, clearly thinking the matter through and reaching the same conclusion Regis already had. He was proven correct when his friend continued, “can’t be a coincidence that all the beggars had been in that area when they’d been approached by this foreigner.”  
  
**_Impatience. Hope._** “Where is this tavern?” Dettlaff fidgeted a bit, eager to leave.  
  
Geralt smiled wryly, unconsciously patting one of his pockets. “Oh, I know the place…”  
  
*  
  
They followed Geralt as the witcher walked with long strides in the direction they must go; first towards Harbor gate, then past the impressive marketplace on Gran’place and onward in the direction of the Nilfgaardian Embassy, but turning right towards the waterfront long before they reached it, going down the sloping street until they could see a building with a sign displaying two pheasants hanging outside: the Pheasantry.  
  
There was a rabble of dwarves outside, shouting something about gwent being invented by dwarves and that they weren’t going to accept some new bloody kind of faction.  
  
Dettlaff growled and carefully pushed through the throng; Regis and Geralt easily following in his steps. The young vampire even seemed to impress the rabble rousers into silence, though they didn’t leave and stared angrily at the man standing on guard before the tavern’s entrance.  
  
The guard was dressed in armour and would have looked rightfully threatening if it hadn’t been for the pink decorative cap on his head. The man looked them up and down, eyes lighting up when he spotted Geralt. “Ah you again, welcome, the tourney is underway! Are you ready?”  
  
“Not here for the gwent tournament,” Geralt gritted out as though it hurt him to say so, “gonna have to forfeit. Need to speak to the Pheasantry’s personnel.”  
  
“Ah, but Count Monnier has reserved the Pheasantry specifically for this tourney. If you are not taking part after all, I’m afraid you will have to wait until the tourney is over. The tavern’s off limits to non-contenders.”  
  
Geralt crossed his arms over his chest and cocked his head, glaring at the man. “Here on witcher business, not interested in the tourney, you will let us in.”  
  
“Why no, Sir, I really shall not.” The guard glared back and widened his stance, blocking the door completely.  
  
Then Geralt lifted his hand and drew a small circle in the air. “You will let us in, good man, we _are_ gwent contenders, remember? Here for the tourney.”  
  
Regis was amazed at the change in the guard’s demeanour. “Why, yes… yes, master witcher, of course. Count Monnier is inside. Good luck with your game,” the man droned in a monotone voice as he opened the door, allowing them to enter.  
  
Dettlaff frowned at Geralt. “I didn’t know witchers could thrall humans?”  
  
Geralt sighed, guiltily looking at the door. “Yeah, suppose you could call it that. Comes in handy sometimes…” He didn’t look all that happy though.  
  
“Ah, witcher Geralt!”  
  
Geralt looked up, trying to locate the owner of the voice.  
  
Regis easily spotted the man. He looked a bit like a pheasant himself, wearing a red and gold outfit and with an impressive hat sporting a yellow-dyed feather.  
  
“Count Monnier,” Geralt exclaimed, walking over to the man and clasping his hand in greeting.  
  
Monnier looked at Regis and Dettlaff. “And who are these? Your supporters?”  
  
“Actually, Martin, need to forfeit. Something important’s come up. Needed to speak to the Pheasantry’s personnel, your guard was kind enough to let me in.”  
  
There was a disappointed gleam in the Count’s eyes. “The Skellige faction, how did you like it though?”  
  
Regis perked up. A _Skellige_ faction? **_Curious.  
_**  
Geralt sighed, but a fond smile twisted at his lips. “Big fan of it. Wish I could stay for the tourney, but really need to handle this matter. Perhaps you’d be willing to play me afterwards?”  
  
Count Monnier grinned and clapped his hands once. “It would be my pleasure!” He cocked his head. “And I wish you good luck on your path, please come by again soon…”  
  
Geralt sighed again, looking longingly at the Count as the man swaggered up the stairs before shaking his head and walking up to the innkeep behind the counter.  
  
“What can I get for you, gentlemen?” The woman asked, patting the counter. “Here for the tourney, are you?”  
  
“Need information,” Geralt said quietly, “looking for a man, a foreigner.”  
  
The innkeep looked at him funnily. “Lots of foreigners here now, what with the tourney. Could you be any more specific?”  
  
Dettlaff stepped up to the counter and ducked his head slightly so he could look the woman in the eye. “A man, tall, with dark hair and a beard. Speaks with a foreign lilt. He could be a regular customer, but he must have visited this tavern at least four times in the last couple of weeks.”  
  
“Huh,” the innkeep frowned, “I see all sorts of people, but I don’t actually speak to many of them. Got several waitresses taking customer’s orders, evenings get crowded.”  
  
“Could we perhaps speak to them?” Regis asked.  
  
The woman nodded and pushed away from the counter, walking about the Pheasantry and tapping several young women on the shoulder as she passed, and, within a few minutes four women had joined them at the counter.  
  
“Thank you, ladies, for your time,” Regis started, “we were hoping one of you could help us? We are looking for a man, a foreigner with a strong accent. He’s tall, with dark hair and a beard and has assumedly visited this establishment several times in the last few weeks.”  
  
One of the waitresses threw up her hands. “Well, you’re not giving us much to go on! In case you haven’t noticed, we see a lot of foreigners,” her eyes examined the three of them before roving over the tourney guests, making her point clear.  
  
“This would have happened before the tourney, a return customer. Likely a man that kept to himself, perhaps waiting for someone.” Geralt clarified.  
  
Another waitress bit her lip. “Well, there is one that comes to my mind. A foreigner came in a few nights ago, I remember seeing him before, like you said, waiting. He’s as you describe: tall man with dark hair and a beard. Always dressed in black, looked like a noble. Handsome, yet such a temper on him! When I accidently spilt some wine on him he yelled at me with this thick Cintrian accent. I would have written him off as just another rude customer and forgotten all about him if it hadn’t been for the companion he’d showed up with that night…”  
  
Dettlaff crossed his arms over his chest and stared at her. “Companion?”  
  
“Why yes,” the waitress nodded, “it was such a surprise to see her here in the Pheasantry!” She stared off dreamily, swinging her empty tray in front of her. “Cecilia Bellant, now she’s such a celebrity! Oh I do hope so she’ll visit again. Perhaps she could be enticed to perform here on this stage!”  
  
Regis knew the name, Dandelion had mentioned her in the past. “Thank you very much.”  
  
“Wait,” Geralt interrupted, “the man, have you seen him today? Is he here?”  
  
The waitress shook her head. “No one here besides the tourney guests. I would have remembered seeing that hot-tempered man this time, I’m sure.”  
  
Geralt nodded at her. “Thanks.”  
  
“And a good day to you, good Sirs,” she cheered, moving on to the tourney guests. The other three waitresses went back to their business as well.  
  
**_Impatience._** “The name. It means something to you.” Dettlaff grumbled lowly, his voice just a thread too rough.  
  
“According to some, Miss Bellant is a very talented singer. Our dear friend Dandelion on the other hand does not share that opinion, artistic rivalry perhaps?” Regis theorised. “Luckily for us, with her being a celebrity in these parts I know the location of her home.”  
  
Dettlaff headed towards the door, eager to leave. “Let’s go.”  
  
Regis let his eyes roam over the interior of the tavern and noticed Geralt gazing longingly at the stairs one final time before seemingly composing himself and following them out the door.  
  
*  
  
Geralt was staring at the dark green coloured wood of the door, a puzzled expression on his face.  
  
Regis had led his two companions around the city, towards Cecilia Bellant’s house, where they’d been greeted by one of her servants. The man had told them that Miss Bellant was currently not at home, as she was preparing for her performance with the Mandragora later this evening, and she had left with a Cintrian nobleman. When would she be back? He really couldn’t say… and with that last remark the servant had shut the door in their faces. _Rude._  
  
Geralt stepped away from the door, frowning. “What _is_ this Mandragora business, actually? It sounds familiar but I don’t know where I’ve heard of it before, or what it is for that matter…”  
  
This was a topic Regis knew more about though and he perked up, eager to explain. “It is a club, an affiliation of local artists. Every now and again they mount soirées and only wealthy patrons are invited.”  
  
Geralt nodded thoughtfully. “Cintrian’s gonna be there most like, gotta nab him. We have to go to that get-together; need to be stealthy about it. If the Cintrian senses we’re on his trail he’s bound to flee. Gotta blend in with the crowd.”  
  
Regis smiled widely. He did love artist performances. “A splendid idea, Geralt.”  
  
Dettlaff growled. **_Distaste.  
_**  
Regis knew the younger vampire disliked large crowds, and especially large crowds of the non-vampire kind. He’d already behaved splendidly at the Pheasantry and dealing with so many loud humans must be grating on his nerves. **_Calm.  
  
_**“You seem to known an awful lot about this Mandragora, Regis. Wouldn’t happen to know where we could find them, would you?”  
  
“Ah, but luck seems to be on our side here. The Mandragora always assembles at the same place – a residence in Hauteville, a very distinguished district. As a matter of fact, both Dettlaff and I know the hostess, Orianna. She’s an old friend.”  
  
“We’ve known her for ages,” Dettlaff piped up with just a hint of **_amusement_** seeping through their bond. ** _  
_**  
Regis rolled his eyes at his brother’s sense of humour. “Indeed. And while, as no doubt will not come as a surprise to you, I am not one of the wealthy patrons invited to these soirées, it is via _her_ that I have had a chance to observe this quaint gathering of painters, sculptors, troubadours and dancers.”  
  
Dettlaff growled and started walking down the street. **_Distaste. Frustration.  
_**  
Regis sighed. Dettlaff would manage, he would have to if they were to follow up on their only lead. He cocked his head at Geralt and pointed towards his brother, a silent request to follow the young vampire. “As you are very well aware, Geralt, each artist tends to have their own eccentricities, and the artists of the Mandragora are no different.”  
  
Geralt raised an eyebrow at him, but he started walking after Dettlaff. “Know quite a few artists, what kind of _eccentricities_ do you mean?”  
  
Pleased, Regis followed, hurrying to catch up to his two companions. “Masks,” he simply stated.  
  
“Huh?” Geralt stopped in his tracks and Regis lightly brushed against him as he caught up, willing his friend to start moving again. Dettlaff apparently was determined to lead them somewhere.  
  
“Ah yes. While artists are usually fond of expressing themselves and letting everyone know who they are, members of the Mandragora are… slightly _different._ Eccentric, but different. They wish to exude romance and mystery, and what could be more mysterious than hiding one’s identity? Thus, they, as well as their exclusive guests, hide their faces behind masks. Very mysterious indeed…”  
  
Dettlaff had slowed down somewhat, allowing them to catch up to him. It seemed the vampire was leading them in the direction of Coopers’ gate. Curious.  
  
“And this is likely the cause of my dear Dettlaff’s discontent; he’s surely remembering the one time he participated in such a soirée and had his behind squeezed by one of the drunken aristocrats. That was a _long_ time ago,” Regis remarked, emphasising the latter for his brother. Dettlaff had mentioned visiting Orianna once, long before he’d become part of his pack. The poor vampire, already so uncomfortable with humans; it was a wonder the rude aristocrat had come away unscathed. It must have been Orianna’s influence. Dettlaff never did learn the identity of the rude man…  
  
“It was… unpleasant,” Dettlaff muttered softly, coming to a stop.  
  
**_Calm._** “Where have you been leading us, dear friend?” Regis asked. “Clearly you have a purpose in mind, are you willing to share?” They’d stopped a little north of the Gran’place market.  
  
Dettlaff walked up to one of the buildings and pointed at the sign. It was a tailor’s workshop. “We’re here.”  
  
Regis’ felt his eyebrows crawl up his forehead.  
  
“You know her,” Dettlaff groused, “she’s willing to allow us to enter her soirée, but she will insist we come dressed appropriately. I for one, do not have a proper outfit on hand, yet we shall need one. If this is to be arranged before nightfall we need to be quick.”  
  
Geralt looked up at the red markings next to the door, golden roosters painted over the banners. “Entered this shop once, mistook it for an armourer. The man inside, Pierre, tongue sharp as a blade. Insulted my feline armour, called it a pain in the eye.” He actually looked a bit peeved as he looked down at himself. “Current armour’s good but it makes me look like a parakeet…”  
  
Regis had to still a laugh, hearing the ‘he’s gonna be mean again’ that Geralt wasn’t speaking out loud. Here was a fearsome witcher, worried that a tailor was going to insult his precious armour. He looked down at himself and bit his lip, hand reaching up to grasp his satchel strap. His clothes were part of his cover, making him look like a harmless old man, exactly the impression he wanted to leave with others. Knowing Geralt, he’d wilfully entered into a verbal match with the tailor, warranting the man’s tongue lashing, but Regis hoped this Pierre would treat him at least with a mode of decorum. “Best to get this over with then.”  
  
Dettlaff nodded. “If you allow me to be fitted first I shall head on over to Orianna and secure our entrances to this night’s soirée.”  
  
“Sounds good,” Geralt said, entering the little workshop, “we’ll head back to Corvo Bianco after this, assume they won’t let in any weapons and wanna make sure mine are safe. Already lost one pair of grandmaster swords… Meet us there, Dettlaff.”  
  
*  
  
Things had gone exactly as planned. Pierre had seemed to enjoy his verbal sparring with Geralt, and his young friend seemed to be enjoying the tailor’s sharp wit as well. To him and Dettlaf though Pierre had been a perfect gentleman, professionally taking their measurements and noting down their desires for colour and even fabric, not even raising his brow when they requested the large mirror in the corner to be covered by a cloth; perhaps he thought them shy or disliking of their own visages, but Pierre didn’t ask. They would be able to pick up their outfits by the end of the afternoon.  
  
The fitting done, Regis and Geralt headed back to Corvo Bianco; now it was just a matter of waiting until late afternoon to pick up their outfits and then head on directly to Orianna’s estate. That is, if Dettlaff succeeded in securing their entrances.  
  
They shouldn’t have worried. Dettlaff had arrived quickly after, showing them three colourful masks that Orianna had given them, having assured him that upon seeing these the doorman would grant them permission to enter later.  
  
And thus they had spent what remained of the afternoon outside, lazily soaking up the sun and preparing for a night of mystery and intrigue. Well, perhaps not as the Mandragora intended, but this night they certainly would be hunting this mysterious Cintrian.  
  
When it was time they headed back to the tailor’s workshop and tried on the clothes. Pierre was tutting at them and testing the pull of the fabric, but Regis noticed the fitting was perfect for him, no chafing or pulling at all and the material was splendid. He was very glad Geralt had brought enough coin for all three of them, after all, he himself had nowhere near the amount of money required for his own outfit, let alone three. This was a matter on which the Duchess’ crowns had been well spent.  
  
As Pierre liked to stipulate, they were now _very_ well dressed gentlemen, wearing the latest fashion in all of Beauclair and Regis couldn’t help but agree, impressed by the man’s rapid delivery.  
  
They wanted to blend in, so all of them had opted for dark colours with a bit of lighter colour thrown in; Toussaintois were so very fond of their colours after all. Geralt looked dashing in his black paisley outfit with red and gold highlights, actually very similar to what Dettlaff had chosen, though his brother had selected a brighter red and less gold. As for himself, he favoured highlights of a greyish green and thin silver paisley patterns. Pity he couldn’t see what it actually did for his whole complexion. He glared at the covered mirror in the far corner.  
  
They were ready now. It was time to head to Orianna’s estate…  
  
* ~~  
~~  
They were wearing the masks gifted them by Orianna, and seeing them the doorman had let them in without a fuss, telling them to look for the Koviri orchid.  
  
Once inside, Regis took in an amazing sight. The soirée had many guests, all masked, and there were various festivities they could partake in. It was different, much larger and extravagant than when he had participated years ago.  
  
“That her?” Geralt asked, nodding his head towards a balcony on their right.  
  
Regis looked up and easily spotted Orianna, her hands held in front of her as she observed the guests of her soirée. “Indeed, that’s Orianna.”  
  
“Why she’s not wearing a mask? Wasn’t that the whole point of this soirée to be romantically mysterious?” The witcher frowned, rubbing under his own mask.  
  
“It would be pointless,” Dettlaff stated, “everyone here knows who she is. Just as I’m sure that your white hair is drawing attention to this evening’s patrons. After all, I do not see any people with the same colour.”  
  
Geralt shrugged. “Pretty sure people don’t actually know it’s me. After all, with age humans lose their colouring so if I pretend to be old and feeble people that’s who people will see: an old and feeble man. Know for a fact that when I was helping Dan-, uhm… the Crimson Avenger, that Sophronia certainly didn’t recognise me, and she’d been eagerly listening to Dandelion’s tales of the White Wolf.” He rolled his eyes, muttering something like ‘never again’ under his breath.  
  
Regis knew Dettlaff would have a hard time among so many humans, he could already sense his brother’s **_discomfort_** and _**unease**_. It was best to get their search over with as quickly as possible, so they needed to stay focused on their task. No drinking absinthe and ending up in the large fountain that the Great Kalesthi was hovering above on his carpet, magicking glittering dolphins from one basin to another. No throwing coloured balls of paint at an empty canvass to express oneself, or lighting the lanterns.  
  
No, they were here for Cecilia Bellant’s companion… though Regis did make sure to ‘accidentally’ stumble into a little bowl of fisstech, making it crash to the floor; the powdery substance blown away on the wind.  
  
The three of them searched for the Koviri orchid, examining each guest they passed, and when that didn’t result in anything they searched the little alcoves that some artists holed up in. It was in one of these that they found the orchid, but not the singer.  
  
“Yes, I’ve seen this nobleman,” the painter’s nude model told them, trying not to move too much.  
  
“Really like to talk to him,” Geralt said softly, “what did he look like?”  
  
The model shrugged. “Like many here. Tall, dark, masked…”  
  
**_Frustration._** Dettlaff walked over to the artists’ painting, glancing from the canvas to the model. “Do you know where this man went?”  
  
“He gave Cecilia a small gift – a heart-shaped box. Then they strolled off together towards the refreshment tables,” she spoke, tilting her head upwards in thought.  
  
“Excuse me, gentlemen!” The painter exclaimed loudly, “I really cannot work like this. You must leave, now!”  
  
Regis could hear Dettlaff growling under his breath as they walked away. **_Frustration_** pouring off of him in waves.  
  
**_Calm. Love._** He sent over their bond, hoping to soothe his brother. “We are on their trail, Dettlaff. Please bear with us further…”  
  
Dettlaff nodded and stalked off towards the refreshment tables. There was food, drink, a horrible love letter penned on a soggy napkin and _there_ – a heart-shaped box.  
  
Geralt sniffed the air. “Perfume, she must have put some on. Scent’s strong.” The witcher started following the trail, periodically sniffing the air and going up some stairs.  
  
Regis could smell the perfume as well, Dettlaff could too, no doubt. It was sickly sweet. His nose twitched.  
  
The trail led them to a door and they went inside a building, only to encounter a masked man guarding another door.  
  
“Sorry, only artists in the Mandragora allowed,” the man said, waving his arms at them before crossing his arms over his chest, making it clear he wasn’t going to allow them up.  
  
Geralt raised his arm and drew a circle in the air. “We are looking for Cecilia Bellant, have you seen her?”  
  
The man calmed down, dulled eyes peering from behind his mask. “She is in her dressing room,” he said quietly, “went upstairs with a nobleman. They were clearly… drawn to each other.”  
  
Dettlaff tilted his head as he looked at Geralt. **_Fear_** ** _. Uncertainty.  
  
_**Regis went to his brother and lightly touched his shoulder. **_Calm. Safe._** “No reason to fear Geralt, Dettlaff. Let him finish.”  
  
Geralt turned his head towards them, a frown on his face before turning back to the guard. “What did the man look like?”  
  
“Tall, broad shouldered. A black beard peeping out from under his mask. And he spoke with a foreign accent, a drawl of sorts.”  
  
Regis let go of Dettlaff and touched his own shoulder, encountering only smooth fabric. “It must be him… we must get to the dressing room. Quickly!” Before the Cintrian disappeared from under their noses!  
  
*  
  
They were too late.  
  
When they’d entered the dressing room they’d immediately spotted a woman in a purple dress, the upper part of her face covered by a white and gold mask. A bloody line across her throat.  
  
“That… that must be Cecilia,” Regis stammered, eyeing the blood. He swallowed and looked away, taking in the rest of the room.  
  
Geralt walked over to the singer and bent down, one of his hands hovering over the bloodied neck and landing lightly on the skin. “No pulse, we’re too late.”  
  
Dettlaff stepped up behind the witcher, his brow drawn. **_Confusion._** “If they were… drawn to each other… why did he slit her throat?”  
  
Regis looked back at the body. “She was just a means to an end to him, he must have achieved what he set out to do. Additionally, his interactions with her had caused others to notice him, and leaving her alive would have formed too great a risk to him.”  
  
Geralt stood up and wiped his fingers on his trousers. “He didn’t leave through the door, the guard downstairs would have noticed. Might still be somewhere near…”  
  
Regis looked to Dettlaff. ** _Anxiety._** “We must find him before he harms others. Orianna should be alerted.”He bit his own lip. No matter what, Geralt shouldn’t be left alone. Of the two of them Dettlaff was the strongest, but he was less wary of humans and their deviousness. He himself was more alert and, as he’d told Geralt before, he was hardly peak form, but compared to a human he truly would be considered a demigod and the witcher was more than capable as well. Regis stilled the little voice in his mind that started shouting at him that _no he wasn’t, look at what happened! **Worry.** **Frustration.** _“Dettlaff, please go and alert Orianna and bid her to bring this soirée to a close. Geralt and I will start investigating into this matter.”  
  
His brother crossed his arms over his chest and frowned at him. **_Disbelief. Concern._** “We shouldn’t split up, Regis.”  
  
He waved a hand at him. **_Calm._** “Dettlaff, we’ll be fine.”  
  
**_Unease._** The muscles in Dettlaff’s jaw twitched from how hard he was clenching his teeth, but finally his brother nodded slowly. “As you wish. I’ll alert Orianna, then come and find you.”  
  
Regis nodded and watched as Dettlaff reluctantly headed down the stairs.  
  
Geralt had started circling the room again and was occasionally muttering under his breath, then his friend headed towards the balcony. The door was missing and Regis noticed that the hinges in the doorframe had been completely torn off; that had required quite some force.  
  
“Bloody handprint,” Geralt muttered, nodding at the wooden post. “The killer’s.” He started to go out onto the balcony. “Found the door!”  
  
Regis hurriedly joined him and noticed the clever manner in which the door had been used as a platform, connecting one balcony to the next.  
  
Suddenly Geralt jumped up onto the platform and easily walked across, towards the other balcony. **_  
  
Apprehension. _**Regis looked down. It was such a long drop.  
  
“Broken flower pot. Trail of dirty footprints going around the corner.” Geralt lightly jumped down and started tracking.  
  
Regis decided to follow, staying close to Geralt as the witcher followed the trail. Then they stumbled upon a ladder, the only route possible, and going up they happened upon a balcony with its doors wide open.  
  
“We need to stay alert, Regis. The man could still be here.” Geralt warned, his golden gaze flitting over the room before taking a step inside.  
  
Regis had no trouble at all making out the signs of a violent struggle. There was a large, broken mirror on his left and it looked like someone had smashed into it. He never did like those things. He circled the room, taking in the furniture that had been knocked over, a slashed painting… a hunting blade on the floor. He picked up the blade; it was created out of a dark metal and its hilt was richly ornamented, depicting a boar crest. _A high quality blade. Special. Belonging to someone in the upper class.  
_  
There was a small rustling as Geralt was doing _something_ on the other side of the room, just beyond his sight. Regis followed the noises. His friend was standing in front of a dresser that was scattered with the remains of what had been a jewelled necklace; the silver links snapped and the precious stone that had apparently been on it discarded nearby, its surface marred by a bloody fingerprint.  
  
Geralt picked up the jewel, his gaze narrowed as he studied its design. He looked up at Regis and nodded towards a wooden box. “Jewel was in the box it seems, Cintrian tried to steal it. Someone got in his way. They struggled. Jewel’s still here, so it must have been the Cintrian who ended up flying out the window.” He pointed towards the bloody window frame.  
  
Regis walked over to the window and stuck his head outside, examining the grounds beneath. It was a bit difficult to make out, but he did notice a still figure wearing black clothes lying among the bushes. “I believe I have found our flier.” He pointed below him.  
  
“Toolbag on the floor,” Geralt murmured, “doesn’t fit the room. Scent’s different.” He bent down and opened the bag, first only examining it before reaching in a hand and coming back out with piece of paper.  
  
Regis took it from him, recognising the jewel that was drawn on it; a faithful representation of the one Geralt had picked up. ‘The Heart of Toussaint’ was written below the image. **_Curiosity._** “Geralt, that drawing…”  
  
Geralt nodded. “I know.” His friend’s gaze was drawn towards the closed door.  
  
Regis perked up as well, hearing footsteps coming up the stairs. **_Unease._**  
  
Immediately a **_calm_** reached him and he knew that it was Dettlaff coming up the stairs. Relieved, he stowed the hunting blade in his satchel.  
  
Geralt pocketed both the drawing and the jewel and stepped away from the dresser, moving towards the centre of the room.  
  
The door opened and Orianna entered, followed closely by Dettlaff, who’d taken off his mask already. The woman’s eyes barely glanced at him before settling on Geralt and she smiled, though her eyes were cold. “So this is the tracker, your witcher, yes?”  
  
Regis stepped up to her and bowed lightly. “Hello Orianna, yes, let me introduce you to Geralt, a dear friend of mine. When we discovered Cecilia’s body him and I set off in pursuit of the killer…”  
  
“And ended up here, but only found evidence of a fight,” Geralt finished, taking off his mask, “seems the man we’re looking has killed his last, failed to get what he wanted. Shame it was too late for Cecilia.” Geralt’s gaze narrowed as he took in Orianna.  
  
Orianna clasped her hands in front of her and walked farther into the room, her gaze focused solely on the bloodied window frame. “Poor girl… Always told her she chose her males badly… but I would never have suspected she could arrive with a murderer. I’ve alerted the staff already; they’re seeing to the body. What happened downstairs I was not aware of until Dettlaff came and informed me of your discovery, yet I am very well aware of what happened in this room.” She nodded towards the blood stain on the window frame and waved her arm towards the dresser with the broken necklace. “I caught him red handed, attempting to burgle, rifling through my possessions. He’d just picked the lock on my jewellery box, and he was bent over the dresser, fondling my precious stone. I became furious, confronted him. A struggle ensued.” Her gaze turned towards the smashed mirror before settling on the window. “He struck his head as we struggled. He was bleeding, dazed… and then he drew a knife. It all happened so quickly afterwards. I knocked the weapon out of his hand and pushed him, hard, and he-”  
  
“Fell out of the window,” Geralt finished.  
  
“Indeed,” she confirmed.  
  
Dettlaff’s eyes turned to slits as he roamed the room and stalked towards the window. The vampire looked outside, silent, yet Regis could feel a hint of **_despair_** starting to take hold in him. That man had been their only lead… ** _  
_**  
“Pretty bold move,” Geralt continued, suspicion in his eyes.  
  
Regis allowed himself to drift off a bit and only vaguely listened as Orianna started admonishing the witcher that women were just as capable fighting as men. He snorted; Geralt was well aware of that fact. He took the few steps required to step up to Dettlaff and pressed himself close to his brother, leaning his weight against his side and staring down at the figure in black; they’d need to go down and check the body after this. **_Comfort. Love._**  
  
“This is what he was after, isn’t it? The Heart of Toussaint. Interesting name…”  
  
Regis turned back around, careful not to disturb Dettlaff. Geralt had taken the jewel from his pocket and was showing it to Orianna.  
  
She took the jewel from him, a pale finger rubbing over the bloodied side and a glint appearing in her eyes. “It seems so. The jewel is said to have belonged to the duke’s elder daughter. It’s interesting how nearly the entire duchy seems to have forgotten about her in what must have been merely a decade.”  
  
For a moment it seemed as though Geralt wanted to take the jewel back, but after a second the witcher dropped his hand and took a step away from Orianna. “Where did you get it?”  
  
Orianna waved her hand in dismissal. “Oh, I bought it off of a young woman, years ago.”  
  
Regis felt one of his eyebrows lifting in interest. “Do you think it was her?”  
  
“It could have been her, it could have been someone else,” Orianna shrugged, “the woman and I made a transaction and that’s that. I don’t tend to ask for a merchant’s name, or a beggar’s for that matter. If it was her she’s long since disappeared.”  
  
Geralt crossed his arms over his chest, tapping his forefinger on one arm, disapproval clear on his face. After a few breaths he sighed and reached back into his pocket, pulling out the piece of paper with the drawing. “Found this as well. Cintrian must have been on a job… got very clear instructions what to look for. He’s not the man we’re looking for, it’s his employer.”  
  
Dettlaff growled softly and turned around, facing them. **_Despair. Anger. Worry._** His hands were clenched and his shoulders hunched and Regis just knew his brother wished to mist up and fly away, engaging in a desperate search.  
  
**_Fear. Anxiety._** Regis’ chest felt tight. After all his time searching for his brother, Dettlaff was going to leave him again…  
  
Dettlaff’s head jerked up and his blue eyes sought his own. **_Frustration. Love. Calm._** The younger vampire tried to comfort him, even though Regis still felt his brother’s distress humming in the background.  
  
Regis shook his head. He was being so very selfish. Rhenawedd’s life was in danger. They had one lead to follow at least. Suppressing his own fears, he focused on sending **_hope_** and **_comfort_** over their bond before turning, looking up. “Orianna, w-we would very much appreciate it if you would keep everything we discussed just now within this room. If word of this failed jewellery theft reaches certain ears, the Cintrian’s employer could run.”  
  
“We wish to proceed cautiously. Other lives are at stake.” Dettlaff’s low voice grumbled.  
  
She looked them over and tapped her chin with a finger. “Well… discretion _is_ in the interest of us all. Very well. I do not wish to become further involved with this matter, and I hope I can count on _your_ discretion as well, Regis… Dettlaff.”  
  
Dettlaff nodded.  
  
“If you need to do any more investigating up here, do so; I trust you to find your way out. I need to tend to other matters.” Orianna threw one last look at Geralt while placing the Heart of Toussaint in one of her dress pockets, then twirled around and headed down the stairs.  
  
Geralt’s eyes glinted as he watched her depart, still holding the drawing.  
  
With a curious tilt to his head, Dettlaff walked over and took the drawing from his hands. The younger vampire examined it and became more interested in the actual paper itself, rubbing a thumb over one of the corners. “This piece of paper… it’s the same type as the notes I’ve received. The quality… the lettering. This confirms our suspicions that the Cintrian and his employer are involved in Rhena’s abduction!”  
  
Geralt perked up. “We find his employer, we find Rhenawedd.”  
  
“The man is dead,” Dettlaff growled, “the woman is dead. They were the only ones who could tell us anything on the origin of the notes. We have no inkling who the employer may be!” ** _Despair. Fury._**  
**_  
_** Enough was enough. Regis walked up to his brother and gently cupped his face in the palms of his hands. “Dear Dettlaff, do not despair. We have a new clue to follow.” He reached inside his satchel and pulled out the hunting blade he’d found earlier. “This is the weapon Orianna mentioned. I recognise the hilt’s crest; it’s used by the lords of Dyn Tynne.”  
  
Geralt frowned, thinking as he stared at the crest. “Dun Tynne… wasn’t that an abandoned ruin just a few years ago?”  
  
“A lot can happen in the span of a few years. I must say I don’t know all the details, but I’ve heard the family’s last heir, Roderick, has returned and restored the castle.” Regis handed the blade to Geralt and winced when his friend pierced it through one of his _new boots_ as though it was a weapon sheath. He heart felt a bit lighter though; a witcher with only his bare fists and his signs was still a difficult opponent, but now at least Geralt had a tangible weapon on him. They really needed to return to Corvo Bianco first so his friend could retrieve his armour and weapons…  
  
“Like to have a look at the Cintrian’s body,” Geralt gestured towards the window “could find some more clues…”  
  
Dettlaff walked towards it and looked outside. **_Unease. Desperation._** “I shall head to Dun Tynne. There is no time to lose; find me when you have finished.” Without another word he turned to mist and flew out the window.  
  
“Dettlaff!” Regis ran to the window and observed as the dark mist travelled quickly through the air. On one level he understood Dettlaff’s reaction, after all, the life of his beloved was at stake and every moment that they tarried was one too many. **_Frustration._** Had he thought Geralt too slow, moving at human speed? Why hadn’t he at least waited for him? Regis shook his head. _If it had been Geralt who had been abducted…  
_  
It wasn’t too late yet, if he misted up now he could follow his brother… but then Geralt would be alone, and the witcher would come after them, without his armour and weapons, of that he was sure. That small hunting blade wouldn’t be enough when it came down to it. **_Worry._** Regis felt the tight control he had on his mind slip away, feeling little cracks appearing in his oh so carefully constructed façade.  
  
What if he wouldn’t be able to find Dettlaff? **_Fear._** No, his brother had promised not to shut him out again. Regis reached out to the bond and Dettlaff’s **_fury_** , his **_fear_** and urge to **_protect_** overwhelmed him, stealing his breath.  
  
“Regis?” Geralt’s voice sounded as if coming from far away.  
  
**_Shock. Uncertainty._** Regis reached up and clutched his shoulder, his fingers twitching. Dettlaff had left. Just like that. That damned impulsive vampire had just _left_ him and he couldn’t follow. What if Dettlaff forgot his promise? What if his brother arrived at Dun Tynne and left to follow another clue? What if it was already too late? Dettlaff would go after the ones that had taken Rhenawedd and not stop until he’d found them. Regis would need to start his search all over again. _Brew resonance._ **_Panic._** Grey spots with flashing little stars started to crawl in on his vision. He couldn’t _breathe_ and something had started ringing annoyingly, a piercing shrill in his ears. _  
_  
A weight landed on his shoulder and Regis flinched. **_Fear. Danger._** Breathing heavily he twisted around and threw his arms up, trying to block the sharp noise. His fingers tingled and his stomach churned. Gasping, he walked backwards until he hit something solid. He couldn’t move! His breathing sped up and he nearly gagged at the scent of fresh coppery blood. There was a fight going on around him, he was certain. Vampires and necrophages, and Geralt… _Geralt_! **_Panic!_**  



	3. The trail of dead-ends

_Dettlaff  
_  
_  
**Fear. Danger.**_ **  
_  
_** Dettlaff stilled, swirling in the air, alert. He would have gritted his teeth if he had any in this shape, and breathed in deeply to quieten his rage if he’d had lungs. Instead, he jerked up and down a few times,  ** _angry,_**   ** _helpless_**. He felt torn between his lover and his brother…  
   
_**Panic!**_ ** _  
  
Concern. _** _Something was wrong._  This was too much like the terror of before when he’d been searching for Regis and found him and his witcher-pup in the depths of Tesham Mutna. Dettlaff wanted to keep moving towards Dun Tynne, but his brother clearly needed him. He’d been foolish to just leave Regis behind like that, he  _knew_ his brother wasn’t well. It had been too soon…  
  
Dettlaff hurried back, disquieted that Geralt wasn’t doing anything to calm Regis down.  
  
When he entered through the window he’d just left and materialised into the room, he was surprised at how much had changed in the few moments he’d been gone. He immediately noticed Geralt sprawled on the floor next to the dressing table. The smell of fresh blood was in the air and he easily spotted the patch of red near the witcher’s temple. The man seemed dazed, blearily gazing ahead.  
  
A whimper.  ** _Fear. Pain._** ** _  
_**  
Whipping his head around Dettlaff spotted Regis in the corner, sitting hunched down with his hands covering his ears, his long claws visible. The vampire was hiding his face between his legs and had obviously shifted shape.  _What happened?_  
  
“Regis,” he called out softly, slowly coming closer and crouching down before his brother, observing the shivers running through the thin body. He could hear Regis’ heart thumping wildly in his chest and he was reminded of Regis' behaviour back at the crypt, when he would awake from one of his nightmares. “Regis… you are at Orianna’s estate, together with me and Geralt. We just finished our search for the Cintrian. We’ve got a new lead. You are fine, Geralt is fine, focus on breathing slowly,” he cajoled, looking back at the stunned witcher. Well, fine was a relative term; he would check up on Geralt in a moment, when Regis had calmed down.  
  
When Regis jerkily lifted his head from his legs, Dettlaff reached out and gently removed the mask still covering his brother’s face, then started lightly stroking a grey temple.  
   
“You left,” Regis’ voice broke, one clammy hand reaching up to grasp Dettlaff’s wrist.  _ **Grief.**_  
  
“I came back,” Dettlaff ducked his head and rested his forehead against Regis’.  ** _Love. Safe. Calm._**   ** _  
_**  
“Dettlaff,” Geralt’s quivering voice breathed, “know you’re worried, know your pain… but flying off in a fury won’t help matters.” He carefully rolled onto his side and lifted himself up, pressing one hand to his bleeding temple.  
  
Dettlaff suppressed the wave of fury and despair roiling within him, not wanting Regis to feel his turmoil. Instead he breathed in deeply and sent back soothing feelings of  ** _calm_** and  ** _safe_** over their bond. “I… apologise, Geralt,” he gritted out, feeling his heart wrenching in his chest, “I need to go after her, time is running out.” Slowly, carefully, he lay a hand on Regis’ cheek, his other hand still held by his brother.  ** _Safe. Love._** ** _  
_**  
Regis violently jerked his head to the side, dislodging his hand and releasing his hold on his wrist. His nostrils flared and his black gleaming eyes were immediately drawn to Geralt. It was obvious he’d noticed the scent of fresh blood.  
  
“Regis, dear friend… it’s all right. You are safe, we are  _all_  safe,” Dettlaff tried again, only to be forced back as Regis clumsily stood up and stumbled towards Geralt.  
  
“G-Geralt!” Regis' more than usual sibilant voice grated out. He fell to his knees, one shaking hand reaching towards Geralt’s shoulder before drawing back as if afraid to hurt the man.  ** _Panic._**  Black eyes glared back at Dettlaff. “What have you done!?” he accused, long claws clicking on the wooden floor.  
  
“I di-”  
  
“Regis,” Geralt interrupted, resting a hand on Regis’ wrist, “I’m fine, please calm down. Dettlaff didn’t hurt me.”  
  
“You’re bleeding!” Regis shouted, glaring at the witcher’s temple.  _ **Fury.**_  
  
“It wasn’t him, Regis. Everything’s all right…”  
  
“Then-” Regis started before stilling, “No!”  ** _Guilt._** His claws withdrew and he shifted back into his human shape.  
  
Geralt carefully grasped both of his wrists and tried to catch his gaze. “Regis, it’s fine. You panicked, lashed out. Know you didn’t mean to hurt me.”  
  
**_Regret._** Regis stood frozen, as though afraid to move, staring at Geralt’s face. “Yet I- I did, Geralt… I’m much more powerful than you, I could have killed you!”  ** _Anguish._** ** _  
_**  
“You didn’t! I’m made of strong stuff, Regis,” Geralt released a hand and gestured towards his temple. “This’ll be gone in no time, you know head wounds, always bleed more than you’d think.”  
  
“I could have killed you,” Regis whimpered, using his freed hand to cup the back of Geralt’s neck and pull him closer so he could lightly press their foreheads together.  ** _Love. Guilt._** ** _  
_**  
Dettlaff sighed. Geralt was still bleeding. He searched the room for anything they could use to stem the bleeding and found a piece of cloth lying on a nearby dresser. “Here, Geralt,” he handed it to the man.  
  
Geralt accepted the cloth and pressed it against his temple, wincing. “Dun Tynne’s our next lead,” he started, looking up, “but I need my swords, my armour. Gotta get back to Corvo Bianco, it’s on the way to Dun Tynne anyways…”  
  
**_Concern._** Regis looked at Geralt, then back at Dettlaff, biting his lip. “We shouldn’t split up. The Cintrian’s employer doesn’t know of his demise and Orianna has promised discretion. You’ve no new letters. Please, Dettlaff?”  ** _Anxiety. Fear._** ** _  
_**  
Dettlaff breathed in deeply, seeing the panic hovering behind Regis’ eyes.  ** _Calm. Love._**  “All right, Regis, we shall stay together…”  
_  
_ *  
  
Geralt was adamant to first go over to the Cintrian and examine his corpse for any further clues.  
  
Regis, still a bit shaky, worriedly hovered over Geralt as the witcher started walking, staying close by even as the man crouched down to examine the Cintrian’s body. The vampire’s eyes nervously flitted over the scene before glancing up the hill, at Orianna’s estate.  
  
“Wasn’t a fair fight, didn’t stand a chance,” Geralt muttered, searching through the man’s pockets, finding nothing.  
  
Regis nodded jerkily, but remained silent; trembling fingers lightly stroking Geralt’s shoulder.  
  
Dettlaff clenched his jaw, unwilling to reveal just  _why_ it had been an unfair fight. After all, he’d promised Orianna discretion. In this whole scheme, her being an elder bruxa didn’t matter; she’d admitted to throwing the Cintrian out of the window and that was that. She wasn’t responsible for abducting Rhena.  
  
Then Geralt stood up and nodded at them both. “Finished here now. Let’s go home.”  
  
*  
  
They’d arrived at Corvo Bianco just after midnight.  
  
The first thing Regis had done upon entering the villa was search for his satchel. Then he’d gotten Geralt to sit down long enough so he could remove the blood-oozed cloth tied around his head. The wound had still been bleeding sluggishly and Regis' eyes had gleamed with concern as he’d started cleaning the injury. That done, he’d taken a small jar from his satchel and scooped up a bit of ointment from it, carefully rubbing it on Geralt's temple before finishing by wrapping a fresh bandage around his head, fingers lingering a bit after he’d tied the knot. Smiling gently at his friend, Regis had informed them that he expected Geralt to be ‘as good as new’ come morning.  
  
Dettlaff had sighed, frustrated. This night they would travel no farther. As Geralt had explained to him on the way back, humans were creatures of habit, and that meant that likely nothing would happen for the rest of the night. He wasn’t fully convinced, but he’d grudgingly admitted that spending the night at Geralt’s place was acceptable. After all, Geralt was a human too and needed sleep, especially seeing as he’d been on death’s doorstep but a few days ago, and Dettlaff wasn’t all that sure actually that the witcher was completely recovered from that ordeal.  
  
And Regis… his brother’s trauma made him behave erratically and he still seemed fatigued. It concerned Dettlaff to no ends.  
   
He’d decided to get some sleep himself as well, but it felt like he’d only just closed his eyes when he awoke again, restless…  
  
Dettlaff forced himself to stay still, as he’d done before – quietly making sure that both Regis and Geralt were all right, but after a while he gave up and carefully slid out of bed, putting on his leggings.  
  
The witcher stirred. “Not leaving again, are you?” He whispered, barely louder than a breath.  
  
Dettlaff would have been offended, but he had to admit that Geralt had a point. If he hadn’t been so reckless Regis wouldn’t have suffered a setback. “Not leaving the estate,” he assured, “I’m restless, I don’t need as much sleep as you, but I cannot lie still any longer lest I risk Regis waking. I need to move, need to calm down…”  
  
“Roach loves her nose being petted,” Geralt mumbled, already drifting off back to sleep.  
_  
_ Dettlaff cocked his head, wondering at the odd statement before deciding that going outside towards the stables actually wasn’t a bad idea. If Roach was anything like Horse the mare could be awake this early in the morning, or this late in the night, depending on how one looked at it.  
  
Roach was indeed awake and softly nickered as he neared, turning towards him and butting his chest in demand of pets. He stayed with her for a while, softly petting her blaze before moving lower, to her nose as Geralt had suggested. The mare closed her eyes in bliss and held still, clearly wanting him to continue.  
  
Rhena needed him, his lover was in danger. She may already be… He shook his head. He couldn’t leave, he’d  _promised_. He couldn’t leave Regis behind again.  
  
He kept on stroking Roach’ nose, sometimes moving up over her forehead and towards her neck; entranced, soothed by the repetitive motion; trying to still his thoughts.  
  
After a while, he didn’t really notice how much time had passed, he returned inside and went back into Geralt’s room, seeing Regis curled up against the witcher’s chest, sleeping soundly. He had a feeling that nothing would wake the gentle vampire now until he would wake up on his own.  
  
“You are not perturbed,” Dettlaff said quietly, careful not to jostle Regis as he crawled back in bed.  
  
“Hmm?” Geralt stirred a bit, opening his eyes.  
  
“His behaviour, it’s… unusual,” he pointed his chin at Regis.  
   
Geralt looked down at the figure in his arms. “Ah. You mean the touching.”  
   
Dettlaff nodded. “Yes.”  
   
The look in Geralt’s eyes spoke of a deep fondness. “He's a tactile person Dettlaff, as long as I've known him. You’ve been living with him for seven years, you must have noticed?”  
  
“He's more obsessive about it.” And that worried Dettlaff.  
  
“He's reassuring himself,” Geralt countered.  
  
One of his eyebrows raised in surprise. “Reassuring himself?”  
  
“That this is real.” He must have looked uncomprehending, because Geralt went on to explain, “You mentioned it yourself already. He's traumatised. I- actually… my friend, Dandelion, showed similar behaviour after Rience… took him a while to bounce back from his ordeal; still has nightmares. Regis… he was looking for you, ever since you left. He was worried out of his mind. You just disappeared on him and he went through torture before he got you back.”  
  
“I would have come back,” Dettlaff defended himself. “Always, he’s pack, my blood-brother; that’s not a thing to be taken lightly.”  
  
“You closing off your end of the bond wasn’t exactly reassuring him of that matter, Dettlaff.”  
  
“I wanted to spare him my turmoil, he doesn’t deserve it.”  
  
“Maybe, but you cutting him off was worse. At least to him.” Geralt sighed softly.  
  
Regis stirred between them and they both quieted.  ** _Calm. Love._** Dettlaff reassured gently over their bond. He shared a look with the witcher, easily making out Geralt’s worried features in the room’s shadows. “Go back to sleep, Geralt,” he breathed, “tomorrow we shall head out together.”  
   
*  
  
The sweet smells coming from the kitchen and the quiet rumblings of Marlene were somehow soothing to Dettlaff. It felt a bit homely even, though he missed the chittering and the soft scuttling of tiny paws. He smiled, seeing Regis stir awake and sitting up, looking better rested than he had in days past, more like himself. Dettlaff expected the sounds and smells of Corvo Bianco reminded him of home as well.  
  
Geralt stretched lazily and yawned before opening his eyes. Then the man sat up and hazily nodded at them, hands reaching up to unwrap the bandage from his head. He started prodding his temple before Regis stilled his hands, interrupting him, lightly scolding his friend as he examined his temple. Satisfied that the wound had healed, Regis sat back and threw back the covers, apparently eager to start the day.  
  
The three of them prepared to set off on a long journey, and when they exited the bedroom Dettlaff finally saw what Marlene had prepared for them, impressed by all the various breakfast dishes and snacks for on the road.  
  
And thus, finally, after a good start of the day, they headed north-east, towards Dun Tynne.  
  
When they passed by the Cockatrice Inn, Geralt instinctively headed over to the notice board next to the building, glancing over the various advertisements and notices before frowning as his gaze settled on one in particular.  
  
“This one…” Geralt muttered, taking one down and showing it to them, “gotta head back to Beauclair, mentions Dun Tynne. We could be too late already, need information.”  
  
Dettlaff read the notice.  
  
_Bloodshed at Dun Tynne. If the elderly witcher roaming around Beauclair reads this notice, report immediately to the Ducal Camerlengo’s offices on Knights Dormant Square. It is a matter of the utmost importance!! More details available at the offices._ _  
_  
*  
  
When the three of them entered the Ducal Camerlengo, Dettlaff halted just inside the hallway. There was a large painting hanging from the wall showing a man and a woman, and two young girls. He stared at the painting, intrigued. There was something familiar about the girl with the black hair…  
  
Geralt, noticing he’d stayed behind, turned back and joined him before the painting. “Dettlaff?”  
  
“The girl…” he pointed at the one that had caught his interest, “she looks familiar.”  
  
Geralt nodded at the plaque. “This is a painting of the ducal family. The blonde girl is the Duchess, Anna Henrietta, and the other girl is her sister, Sylvia Anna.”  
   
Regis cocked his head, a thoughtful look on his face. “I must say, it is quite surprising to find such an imagery still. All the books on the ducal family and paintings only show Anna Henrietta and her parents.”  
  
Geralt shook his head. “Not all the books. The ducal chronicle, first edition, mentions both sisters. I’ve laid my hands on the second, amended edition; there’s no mention of Sylvia Anna there, it’s like she’s been wiped out of Toussaint’s history.”  
  
“Very curious,” Regis agreed.  
  
“But not what we came here for,” Geralt nodded towards an arched doorway. “Camerlengo de Surmann is that way.”  
  
“Ah, witcher,” the Camerlengo greeted, “I take it you have read the notice?”  
  
Geralt nodded at the man, an angry gleam in his eyes present for only the blink of an eye. “The  _elderly_  witcher, huh? Couldn’t remember my name? That many witchers around out here?”  
  
“Now now, witcher, no reason to fuss. At the notice stated, it concerns a matter of  _utmost_  importance.” The Camerlengo searched through the mounds of paper on his desk before pushing one of them forward, inviting Geralt to have a look at it.  
  
Geralt quickly read the note before looking up, startled. “This for real?”  
  
“I’m afraid so. As you realise, this is a very serious matter. This  _concerned subject_ is provoking a revolt to restore the rightful heir to the throne.”  
  
“Where’d you find the letter?”  
  
“That’s the other thing that makes this find so much more worrisome. It was found in the pockets of one Roderick, Lord of Dun Tynne.”  
  
“Figure his pockets didn’t get emptied by this Roderick himself?”  
  
“You figure correctly. Lord Roderick was found dead at his family’s castle just one day ago, his throat slashed. A servant girl stumbled upon the body as she was bringing him his afternoon wine and alerted a knight errant. Due to the sensitive content of this letter, discretion is required.”  
   
“Were heading to Dun Tynne before catching your notice. What else can you tell us?” Geralt scratched his chin, staring at the Camerlengo’s beady eyes.  
  
“Several knights errant have searched the castle and found the place deserted. Lord Roderick’s men were nowhere to be found, but our knights are now looking for them.”  
  
“So they got a trail, what do you need me for then?”  
  
“I need you to figure out the origin of these letters, find out who’s behind them.”  
  
Geralt breathed in deeply. “With Roderick dead, seems like a valid lead as any to follow. You let me know if your knights find Roderick’s men.”  
  
The Camerlengo nodded. “Let me know what you learn. Good luck on your hunt.”  
   
Geralt ducked his head and exited the room and a dull  _thump_ sounded together with an indignant “Hey, watch out!”  
  
Regis looked at Dettlaff before heading for the front entrance, leaving him to follow behind.  
  
Dettlaff frowned, seeing a man exit the building, pulling back to let Geralt and Regis pass. Curious, he followed, seeing the man more clearly now. The stranger looked and smelled like a chimney sweep and was rubbing at his clothes, as though smoothing out the wrinkles Geralt had caused upon their collision.  
  
The man took a step back and looked at the three of them, eyes stilling on Geralt’s swords and lighting up in interest. “You are a witcher!”  
  
Geralt breathed in deeply once, before slowly releasing his breath. “I am.”  
  
“My name,” the man gasped, “is Durand Faucher-Plamondon de Savarin. I hail from the Doren Alma Estate, east of Francollarts, and I am in need of aid, master witcher. The knights errant scoffed at my tale and refused to look into this matter, but you – this issue may be more suited for a witcher, therefore I implore you! There’s been a blood bath at my estate!”  
  
Geralt immediately became more alert. “Bloodbath? What caused it, how did it happen?”  
  
“I don’t know what caused it, though, perhaps spirits?” Durand continued, a small tremble in his voice. “It all occurred so suddenly. We were staging a scene, we of the Society of Friends of the History of Toussaint, of which I am Chairman. Divethaf paying homage to Ludovic. A flash of light blinded me completely. I heard cries, though saw nothing… then felt my own robes were in flames. I broke and ran, threw off my doublet and fled into my house until I could hear no more breathing and I ran, searching for knights errant, hoping they could help. But alas, I found no willing men, so my footsteps guided me here, to the Ducal Camerlengo, though I feared to be scoffed at and turned aside. I’m desperate, master and I know you witchers don’t work for free; I am willing to pay a sack full of coin for your efforts. In addition to that I couldn’t help but overhear the last part of your conversation… I am familiar with these types of letters. In return for your aid I will tell you of a location I know in which these are distributed.”  
  
“Letter incites a revolt,” Geralt growled, “didn’t think to report it to the duchy?”  
  
Durand waved his hands, panic gleaming in his eyes. “These letters have been around for _years_ , so my brother-in-law has told me. The knights of the duchy _know_ of their existence!”  
  
“Curious how one of these letters was found in the pockets of a murdered man, who likely had a connection to another man we’ve been investigating.” Regis spoke up, crossing his arms over his chest and lifting an eyebrow at the man.  
  
“Please, master witcher,” Durand begged, “I am desperate. I’ll tell you what I know afterwards, I promise! I’ll even inform the Ducal Camerlengo if you so wish it, but _please_ , help me!”  
  
Dettlaff growled, feeling his skin ripple in  ** _anger_**. This man knew something that could help them, but he was purposefully withholding information. Why wasn’t Geralt using his thrall on the man? _Perhaps…_ _  
_  
A hand on his arm brought him back to himself. Geralt’s narrow gaze was on him. “You heard Durand. The knights errant ignored his plea and from what he’s telling us they are likely not equipped to deal with this anyhow. Right now, got no clue what’s behind the blood bath. Could have been a onetime occurrence, but for all we know the thing attacking them could strike any time. This is how it goes sometimes, Dettlaff. Someone knows something and it’s tit for tat.” He shrugged.  
  
Regis was glaring at Durand, clearly displeased. “I agree with Dettlaff's sentiment, Geralt. It would be so mu-”  
   
Geralt placed his hands on Regis’ shoulders and ducked his head, trying to catch his friend’s gaze. “Regis, you know me. Won’t be able to just let it be, not when I know I can stop it from harming anyone else. And if Durand speaks true we’ll have another clue to follow afterwards.”  
  
Regis actually growled. “No! We could just-”  
  
“Yes!” Geralt countered, “And you shall not do it in my stead, nor you!” He glared at the both of them.  
  
“No,” Regis hissed, stepping closer until his face was mere centimetres from the witcher’s. “What about Dettlaff… what about Rhenawedd?”  ** _Fear. Concern._** ** _  
  
_**Dettlaff suppressed the growl that wanted to escape from his chest. “You were much more docile a few days ago. Regis’ way is easier,  _our_ way is easier.”  
  
Geralt shook his head, madly. “Yeah well, blame the blood loss earlier. Now I’m stronger again, nearly back to my old self. I can  _handle_  this, Dettlaff.  _Need_  to do this. The search for Rhenawedd can’t continue unless we get a new lead. It’s either waiting for another letter, or we get new information from Durand. Don’t blame the man, he’s desperate after the blood bath he experienced and is just trying to get help.”  
  
“While _him_ not telling what he knows borders on treason!” Regis seethed. **_Loathing.  
  
_**“Regis, I  _need_ to do this. More people could be killed!” Geralt was determined.  
  
Dettlaff still thought it would be easier to just thrall the other human, but he recognised the stubborn glint in Geralt’s eyes. _So much like Regis…_ He sighed. Even if Durand told them now he knew Geralt would want to solve this matter first, anxious to save lives. “A compromise, witcher.”  
   
Golden eyes narrowed, suspicious.  
   
Dettlaff pointed towards the sky. “Until my ravens let me know of any change, we’ll help. But if a raven comes, I will take action, with or without you.”  
  
Geralt blinked. “Deal.”  
  
Regis looked unsure. “Dettlaff?”  ** _Uncertainty._**  
   
The man, Durand, was whipping his head about during their argument and gulped loudly when all three of them looked back at him.  
   
Geralt offered his hand to the man and waited for Durand to shake it. “We’ll take your contract, and afterwards you will tell us what you know about the letters…”  
  
***** **  
**  
The four of them travelled to the Doren Alma Estate, where, as Durand had described, the blood bath had occurred. The man was hesitant to enter his estate, but looking inside he braced himself and went through the gate.  
  
“This is where it happened,” he told them, gesturing towards the yard, “that’s where we were enacting the scene.”  
  
Dettlaff frowned, seeing the various bodies along the path and a burnt body right by the door. The yard was decorated with elven statues and there were tables and benches strewn all over the place. It definitely looked like a fight had gone on, or a massacre…  
  
“Think you may have summoned a spectre, a corgowrath or a tsoob, maybe…” Geralt mused as he wandered around the yard.  
  
“W-what now?” Durand asked shrilly.  
  
“Best thing? You gotta do it again, of course,” Geralt stated, “summon it again, so I can tend to it once and for all. Durand, think I can re-enact the pledge, the giving of homage, alone?”  
  
“It was a great, momentous event – the surrender of Toussaint’s last elven king. You will at least need three individuals…”  
  
Geralt looked at Regis, then turned his gaze towards Dettlaff. He nodded at him, watching Regis do the same. “Explain to us what we need to do, won’t start the re-enactment before nightfall. Things of this sort are a lot more likely to work after dusk. Want you out of here well before that time, Durand.”  
  
*  
  
When dusk had settled Durand had already left, returning to Beauclair to stay at his sister and brother-in-law’s place. They’d taken care of the bodies in the yard as well, carrying them inside the building up the stairs for a proper burial later by their loved ones.  
  
Geralt was going to be playing the Aen Seidhe ruler, and Dettlaff would stand, or rather, sit, in for King Ludovic, upon the elven throne. Durand had given them ceremonial masks to wear, making sure that everything had been as it had been during the previous re-enactment.  
  
Regis sat on a bench, reading from a large tome, instructing Geralt to light the torches spread in a circle around the scene. To lay a loaf of bynnen at Dettlaff’s feet, and fill the ceremonial bowls with gwinoedd before finally, passing on his elven sword and shield, dropping to his knees, acknowledging Divethaf’s final defeat. Then it was Dettlaff’s,  _Ludovic’s_ turn to speak and all of a sudden the statues came to life, transmorphing into elves who started attacking them.  
  
Most of the elves attacked with spears, but two of them directed flaming bolts at them. Geralt just barely managed to dodge the first few, but quickly got his bearings and focused on taking out the mages first, using his silver blade.  
  
**_Fear._** Dettlaff wasn’t fond of mages of any kind, and these ones that had been mere stone just a moment before were an additional unknown to him.  _Dangerous_. He quickly glanced at Regis and saw that his brother had shifted into his vampiric shape, using his long claws to slash at an approaching elf.  ** _Relief._** ** _  
_**  
Geralt spread the fingers of one of his hands and pressed it to the ground. A purple light appeared around him in a circle, trapping two of the erstwhile statues and slowing their movement. His armour had started to glow in certain places and Dettlaff could make out various runic symbols on them, though he couldn’t determine their exact purpose. The witcher rolled to dodge another flaming bolt and immediately spread his hand to the ground again, shooting a quick glance over at him. “Move!”  
  
Dettlaff frowned, puzzled, and his moment of inaction cost him. Geralt finished his sign and this time the purple circle spread out, catching him within its light and he felt heavy, pressed down. He could hear blood pounding in his ears, his head started hurting and stars were infringing upon his vision. He tried to mist up to escape the circle, but found that he couldn’t.  ** _Panic._**  
  
A hand grasped his wrist and pulled, and suddenly Dettlaff found himself outside the circle. He looked back, seeing it was Geralt that had gripped him.  
  
The witcher however didn’t stay still and instead stalked towards one of the spear bearers caught in the purple trap. “Next time, don’t try to change, just walk away from it!” He yelled, having no difficulty moving within the purple circle, easily parrying a strike while reaching for a vial on his belt.  
  
**_Anger. Fury. Protect._** Regis misted up and materialised again, back in his vampiric shape, right behind one of the mages; slashing through flesh in one fell swoop and leaving crumbling stone pieces to fall to the ground.  
  
“Dettlaff, behind you!” Geralt shouted, and this time he immediately moved to the side, shifting to his vampiric form while turning around and lashing out at the elf.  
  
Geralt was holding his own, dodging the fiery bolts the last mage shot at him and evading the spear bearers with ease. He seemed to dance to a tune only he could hear as he whirled around and struck precise blows, before raising a hand in the air and pushing back one of the elves with a powerful blast.  
  
The fight was over in a few minutes, leaving the yard littered with stone pieces.  
  
Dettlaff walked over to one of the crumbled statues where only moments before an elf had been, trying to skewer him on his spear. Part of a face was still recognisable, and he picked up the stone piece.  
   
“Golems,” Geralt gritted out, wiping his brow. Dark veins stood out on his face.  
  
**_Concern._** Regis walked up next to him and his gleaming eyes anxiously roved over Geralt’s form; his clawed hand lightly fluttering over the witcher’s arm before drawing back. “The toxicity’s looking worse than usual,” he murmured.  
  
“Am fine, Regis. Looks worse than it is,” Geralt assured, taking another vial from his belt and swallowing its contents. Dettlaff could see the dark veins becoming lighter before finally disappearing. “All better now…”  
  
**_Relief._** Regis eased his stance, shoulders relaxing. His brother walked up to him and carefully touched the piece of crumbled statue. “Golems,” he pondered, “but not of any kind I have ever seen. Have you, Geralt?”  
  
The witcher shook his head. “Dettlaff, you hold on to that piece. Gotta find Durand and tell him what happened. Likely the man will want proof.”  
  
Dettlaff growled. How would this be proof of a finished contract? The human had already proven himself to be devious and cunning, what would prevent him from brushing off this piece of statue as anything other than just what it appeared to be?  ** _Distrust._** ** _  
  
_**“You know you growl when you’re upset?” Geralt asked, picking up the large tome Regis had been reading from and laying it on the ground just in front of him. He sighed. “We’ll get our lead to follow now, Dettlaff. Durand’s bound to hold up his end of the bargain and we can rest assured that there will be no more deaths caused by these golems.”  
  
He felt an eyebrow raising. “What if this man still withholds the information?”  
  
Geralt smiled a dark smile. “In that case he deserves to be Axii’d – put under thrall,” he amended, seeing his confused look. Then he lifted a hand in the air and twisted his fingers, oddly reminding Dettlaff of a spider, before a burst of fire appeared from his palm, setting the large tome alight.  
  
*  
   
“I… I may know what happened,” Durand started when they met up with him at his sister and brother-in-law’s house, “These statues you saw, once stood in Divethaf’s palace…” As Durand started telling the story of Divethaf and his plot with the golems, Dettlaff felt his ire increase. They’d done what the man had asked for, now it was his turn to give them what was owed.  ** _Frustration. Impatience._** ** _  
_**  
“Tell us,” he growled, pleased to see Durand handing a sack of coin to Geralt without any fuss.  
  
The man startled. “T-these letters, talking about the return of the rightful heir… I’ve seen stacks of them lying around in the Pheasantry, a tavern near the waterfront. I go there at least once a week to have drinks with my brother-in-law. ”  
  
Dettlaff balled his fists, feeling his nails dig into the palms of his hands. Regis and Geralt would not appreciate him flying off in a huff. He needed to stay calm, for Rhena. That didn’t mean he had to speak to this man any longer though. “Regis, Geralt,” he growled lowly. They had a new lead now, a reason to re-visit the tavern.  
  
“Coming, Dettlaff,” Geralt replied.  
  
Regis was glaring at Durand, his hackles raised.  ** _Indignation. Fury._** “Tell the Camerlengo!”  
  
Durand fidgeted in place, clearly feeling on edge, but nodded. “I shall.”  
  
Before Dettlaff could reach out to his brother, Geralt took a step back and touched Regis’ wrist. “You coming?”  
  
Dettlaff threw a sour look at Durand as well. All this work and effort for but a measly lead. He felt like they were running around in circles, going back to the tavern they’d already visited. Such a waste of time…  
  
*  
  
They returned to the Pheasantry. The rabble rousers had disappeared, as had Count Monnier’s guard, and Dettlaff couldn’t help noticing the witcher’s shoulders sagging.  
  
“Tourney must be finished by now,” Geralt sulked.  
  
Dettlaff shrugged and determinedly pushed open the door, preparing himself to be met by a large and rowdy crowd. When he stepped in though he was pleasantly surprised at seeing only a few patrons.  
  
“Ah, back again?” The innkeeper asked, placing her hands on the counter. “Not bringing trouble, are you? Had enough of that since last time you were here.”  
  
“What happened?” Regis asked, eyes searching the tavern’s interior.  
  
“Had a riot going on upstairs,” the woman waved at the stairs leading up to the sun terrace.  
  
**_Surprise._** Regis looked up sharply and stepped closer to the counter, black eyes focused on the innkeeper. “What kind of riot?”  
  
“A party of dwarves kicked down the door. I yelled at the scoundrels to get out, but they pushed me aside and stormed up the stairs, interrupting the tourney. There was a lot of shouting going on and there were sounds of a brawl and I rushed out, wondering where Count Monnier’s guard was until I found him lying just outside the entrance, out cold. I fetched a rolling pin from the kitchen and rushed upstairs, seeing the dwarves punching the tourney’s contestants, though one gave back as good as he had. Got them to calm down eventually, especially after hitting one of them with my rolling pin and giving them a good scolding, but not before they’d destroyed half of my sun terrace!”  
  
**_Disappointment._** Dettlaff sighed harshly.  
  
“Last couple of weeks…” Geralt started, “noticed anything strange? Besides the riot, I mean. More like the same people gathering, acting odd.”  
  
The woman cocked her head and lifted her eyebrow. “Got all sorts of people visiting the tavern. And the longer they stay inside the stranger they start acting. Why, one even started bawling The Maid of Vicovaro the other day wearing nothing but his braies and a feathered hat, and  _not in the right places_!”  
  
“What about people gathering here? Disgruntled people, handing out pamphlets. Did you perhaps notice anything of the sort?” Regis asked.  
  
The innkeeper frowned, her gaze flitting towards a table in the back. “Well, perhaps… These last couple of weeks Lord Roderick and his team of knights have started coming to the Pheasantry. Usually they’re hunched over one of the tables and it seems like they can’t talk without moving their arms wildly in the air. Thought they might have been discussing the upcoming tourney and were spreading the word, handing out flyers to the customers… didn’t see him at the tourney though.” She rubbed her hand against her chin.  
  
Regis straightened up and gazed at her, imploringly. “Anyone else?”  
  
The woman shrugged. “No one comes to mind, really. Some usual patrons, the foreigners visiting for the tourney… only one that comes to mind is Lord Roderick.”  
  
Geralt hummed and stalked off towards the table in the back.  
  
“Thank you,” Regis nodded his head at her.  
  
Dettlaff silently followed Geralt. The witcher’s eyes were flitting over the tavern, from one spot to the next, searching, starting at the table in the back and moving in a circle. He even went up the stairs towards the sun terrace and circled around before coming to a still.  
  
“Nothing,” Geralt sighed, shoulders dropping, “no pamphlets, no letters… can’t detect anything of interest.”  
  
**_Frustration._**  
  
 *  
  
Dettlaff huffed, knowing his  ** _displeasure_** was coming through loud and clear over his bond with Regis, yet even Geralt started becoming a bit wary around him, disappointed himself that after all their efforts, following all the leads, they had reached a dead end. The only place they hadn’t investigated yet was Dun Tynne, but with the heir of the castle dead and the place searched by the Camerlengo’s knights Dettlaff didn’t hold out too much hope.  
  
He wanted to mist up and fly away, but he’d made that mistake already one time too often. His brother’s mind was still a fragile thing, no matter the front Regis was trying to show to the rest of the world. No, they would have to wait for another letter.  ** _Frustration._**  
  
Geralt stared across the water, towards the Beauclair palace. “Been awhile since reporting to Anna Henrietta, should do so before she has de la Tour drag me back.”  
  
**_Indignation. Concern._** “She cannot fault you for following any lead as they come, especially not time sensitive ones!” Regis snapped, hackles clearly raised.  
  
Geralt shrugged. “The Duchess doesn’t know that, gotta inform her of what happened. Don’t worry, I’ll be discrete. You and Dettlaff should go to Corvo Bianco, wait for me there.”  
   
Regis tilted his head, fingers reaching up towards his strap and twitching around the material. “I could come with you, deflect her ire?”  
  
The witcher smiled kindly. “Regis… I’ll just be reporting back to her and de la Tour. There are no monsters to battle up at the palace and even if there were you two have just witnessed for yourselves that I am fine.”  
  
**_Concern._** Regis clearly didn't like it, but the vampire nodded.  
  
Dettlaff stepped closer to Regis and pressed his side against his brother's.  ** _Safe._**  
  
Geralt walked over until he was standing right in front of him. “Dettlaff,” he started, “if a note shows up while I’m at the palace,  _don’t_ go off alone. Take Regis with you and get one of your ravens to find me, all right?”  
  
He nodded his head. “I shall. Return swiftly, Geralt.”  
  
As Geralt headed in a northern direction, Dettlaff and Regis walked a bit and, out of sight of curious eyes, misted up in the cover of shadows, swiftly travelling back to Corvo Bianco.   
  
Waiting until a beggar showed up with a new letter, that really was all they could do now…  
  
*  
  
It was a few hours later that Geralt showed up at the villa, and Dettlaff could easily tell that the witcher wasn’t happy at all. There was a sour look on his face and it looked like if his jaw clenched any further he’d crush a molar.  
  
“How did it go?” Regis asked.  
  
“Hnnng,” Geralt replied.  
  
**_Amusement._** “Hnnng?” Regis returned, looking at the witcher, though there was a bit of worry in his gaze.  
  
“Duchess wasn’t happy I let the Milton’s killer go,” Geralt grunted out, “explained the situation to her and got a scolding. Told her of the blackmail situation and got her to listen. She’s willing to let me continue the search for, uhh, Rhenawedd.”  
  
Dettlaff frowned, how come Toussaint’s ruler was so easily swayed by the words of a witcher? “How did you manage that?”  
  
“Told her the truth, though I didn’t tell her everything. Said a powerful vampire was being blackmailed and that he would be impossible to fight, could better be reasoned with and then the bloodshed would stop. That was Anna Henrietta's primary concern, at least until I showed her these…” Geralt pulled out two pieces of paper from his pocket and held them out. His face was grim as he stared at them.  
  
Regis reached out and gently tugged the papers out of his hand, recognition lighting up his face.  
  
“Rhenawedd…” Geralt started, furtively looking back at Dettlaff, “all this time it was right in front of us.”  
  
**_Disbelief. Shock._** “No, Geralt…”  
  
The witcher nodded.  
  
**_Impatience._** “Tell me,” Dettlaff growled, “what have you discovered?”  
  
Geralt smiled wryly at him and his golden eyes shone with pity. “Rhenawedd… it means ‘Queen’s Child’ in Elder Speech. The Heart of Toussaint, a jewel  _confirmed_ now by Anna Henrietta herself to have belonged to Sylvia Anna, the duke’s eldest daughter, born under the Curse of the Black Sun… The Pheasantry, linked to the beggars and the ransom notes and the letters from this concerned citizen inciting the Beauclairois to revolt… it’s too much of a coincidence, Dettlaff. The Duchess has sent Damien de la Tour and his men to find her. She's willing to let me continue our search because it'll lead to Sylvia Anna.”  
  
Dettlaff blinked. He was having difficulty catching his breath.  ** _Fury. Disbelief. Denial._** ** _  
  
__Calm. Love._** “Please, Dettlaff…” Regis tried to soothe him.  
  
**_Betrayal._** He balled up his fists and tried to control the anger trembling his body. He was struggling to keep his promise to Regis. Rhena… Geralt was mistaken! _**Anguish.**_ But… it was all too much of a coincidence. He started breathing quickly, trying to catch his breath. If it was true then  _Rhena_  had used him… used him as a weapon, a mindless beast.  ** _Fury!_**  
  
**_Love. Calm. Safe. Fear._** “Dettlaff?” Regis moved next to him and hesitantly reached up to his neck.  
  
Shuddering, Dettlaff allowed his brother to do as he wished. He shut his eyes tightly, willing himself to stay still. It  ** _hurt_** so much. Everything he had believed in, everything he had done for  _her_ … it had all been because of a lie!  
  
**_Comfort._** Regis gently pulled and brought their foreheads together.  
  
“I… I need to know for certain, Regis,” he cried.  ** _Hope._** As long as they hadn’t found either of them there was still a chance…  
  
“Dettlaff…” Regis sighed sadly.  ** _Love._** ** _  
_**  
“Doesn’t mean we have to give up the search, Dettlaff,” Geralt interrupted softly, “gotta find her, either Rhenawedd or Sylvia Anna. Damien’s men are out searching for Anna Henrietta’s sister and the knights errant are searching for Roderick's men. This isn't over. Good chance a new letter will be delivered soon. We can wait for it, or head up to Dun Tynne, see if there's anything the knights may have missed?”  
  
He felt his claws elongating, brushing against his legs as he leaned into Regis’ touch.  
  
“Hey! What are you doing here?” Barnabas-Basil’s voice sounded from somewhere near the stables.  
  
“The witcher told me to come!” A slightly familiar voice objected loudly.  
  
Dettlaff startled and looked up, seeing one of the beggars they’d met back at the shelter.  
  
Regis hesitantly reached for his wrist, lightly stroking his skin. “Dettlaff…”  
  
He focused on his claws, wishing them to retreat back to 'normal' before anyone took notice.  
  
“B.B, it’s all right!” Geralt raised his voice so his majordomo could hear him, already heading over towards the two men.  
  
Regis was looking at him, _**concern**  _and  _ **fear**_ in his eyes.   
  
Dettlaff clenched his jaw and silently nodded before walking towards the humans, Regis worriedly hovering next to him.  
  
“Romain, was it?” Geralt nodded at the man.  
  
The beggar held up a scroll and offered it to the witcher. “I was supposed to deliver this two days after the Feast of Saint Barnabas. She told me to deliver it personally, and let no one else see it, but you helped us, helped our benefactor… that’s why as soon as I got the letter I rushed over here.”  
  
Geralt took the scroll from him. “Thank you, Romain. Who is she though, do you know?”  
  
Romain shuddered. “I do not know who she is and I have no wish to find out, or ever see her again. She was frightening, something about her just was  _off._ ” _  
  
_“Can you at least tell us what she looked like?” Regis carefully took the scroll from Geralt, rubbing his thumb across the ribbon tied around it.  
  
“She’s young, somewhere in her twenties. Got cold green eyes in a pale face and her hair’s as black as a raven. Got these scars on her neck,” Romain used a finger to draw patterns on his own neck, “and she c _ross-dresses_ , wears trousers! Got this air around her like she’s better than others.”  
  
**_Shock._** Dettlaff frowned. The beggar was describing Rhena. He thought back to the painting of the ducal family back at the office of the Ducal Camerlengo. The familiarity, the description down to the scars. How many coincidences would it take for him to admit the truth that his heart had started whispering? A cold shiver rushed through his body.  ** _Pain. Sorrow._** “It’s her. Rhena… is Sylvia Anna.” Dettlaff felt a weight settling on his chest, crushing his heart. She’d used him. _**Grief.  
  
****Love. Comfort.**_ Regis leaned into him.  
  
Geralt nodded. “B.B, can you show him to the kitchens and have Marlene fix something up for him? He’s had a long journey, definitely deserves it.”  
  
Romain’s eyes widened. “Thank you, master witcher.”  
  
Watching Barnabas-Basil lead the beggar up towards the villa, Dettlaff tilted his head at Regis.  
  
“It looks to be the same type of paper as the other letters,” Regis murmured thoughtfully, handing the scroll to him.  
  
Dettlaff took it and carefully slid the ribbon off, unrolling the piece of paper. He felt Geralt come closer, looking over his shoulder as he read the note.  _  
  
This time you must see to our Duquessa. Anna Henrietta knows nothing of empathy. Her heart is cold. This shard of ice you must tear from her breast. Yet first you must snap her neck. Quickly and to effect. Once that is done, Rhena shall go free.  
  
_“The Five Virtues," Geralt said softly, "folk already were talking about a righteous, vengeful Beast after learning how the victims were found. A knight with smudged honour, another left as a fool, de la Croix – a greedy knight turned merchant and Milton in his rabbit costume, a coward. Four seemingly random victims to start, the Virtues their only link, and now the Duchess described as having a cold heart, a lack of compassion. If Dettlaff had killed her people would have believed Anna Henrietta died for her sins.”  
  
Regis held out his hand for the letter and Dettlaff obliged, feeling dazed. “By the stars, this matter has turned incredibly grave. We’ve proof of a plot to assassinate Toussaint’s ruler. This note… all the other clues, they all lead to but one conclusion: she is plotting a coup d’état!”  
  
_**Regret.**_ Had all that had been between them been a lie? “She used me,” Dettlaff gritted out, “help me find her, Regis… Geralt. Help me find _Sylvia Anna._ ”  
   
  
**THE END**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A few of the lines have been borrowed from the game, just twisted a bit to fit into this story; if you’ve played BAW they will be familiar to you. I’ve tried to avoid such situations, though some lines & scenarios were just too good to skip. <3
> 
> As for the ending - the search for Rhenawedd *is* over, even Dettlaff is convinced Rhena and Sylvia Anna are the same person. Luckily in this series, after everything that has happened, Dettlaff is very much unwilling to leave Regis; he cares too much for his blood-brother, especially now when Regis is still clearly traumatised by what had happened. No misting up in a fury and calling up a vampire attack!
> 
> When this plot bat continues the search will continue! Who knows what they'll encounter next (nothing written yet, the possibilities are endless). And so far Geralt has been too busy with healing and worrying about Regis and Dettlaff to be bothered by his own experience in Tesham Mutna… *off to catch the plot bat* <3


End file.
